Traffic
by ZooMomma
Summary: An increasingly threatening terror group in East Africa...an intercepted phone call...a spate of horrific killings in South Africa...a unlikely, rapidly closing window of opportunity...and now Auggie Anderson and Annie Walker have an unexpected mission on their hands. (6 months post 4x16. Auggie's POV. Mostly.)
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

_Saturday June 21st – Sunday June 22nd 2014_

_Somewhere over the Atlantic_

Auggie Anderson leans back wearily against the headrest of the South African Airways Airbus A340, and double-taps the screen of his phone to silence the music that has been flowing through his headphones. He is restless. He has tried and failed, repeatedly, to sleep, and the jazz he so often relies on to soothe his nerves is having exactly the opposite effect. What he _really_ wants to do is pace, but that's not advisable on an airplane in the best of circumstances, and he has no doubt that a _blind_ man pacing up and down the aisle will attract all the wrong kinds of attention.

It's not even worth heading to the bathroom again. Owen Garrett apparently, like Auggie Anderson, likes to pre-book back-of-plane seats when flying long haul. Auggie, as the person now occupying Owen's seat, is genuinely grateful for this: it makes for quick and uncomplicated bathroom visits – one can be up and at the bathroom door before any flight attendants (or 'helpful' passengers) see the white cane and start fussing and offering assistance. But when one's legs are screaming to be stretched, four paces to the bathroom door and four back just doesn't cut it. So, he stays where he is.

Frustrated, he pulls the headphones off and reaches down to stow them and his phone in the leather messenger bag at his feet. Next to him, a sleeping Annie stirs a little as if his movement has disturbed her, but then sighs and resettles. He leans back again and closes his eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing.

He is under no illusion as to why he is so wired. The fact he's heading out into the field, though thrilling, is not enough to produce this degree of edginess – he's had far too much experience for that to be a factor. No, it's the person who he's heading out _with_ that's at the root of it.

She has ruined him.

He can't sit on a plane any more without thinking of the times he's flown with her – as friend, as romantic hopeful, as lover, as complete bastard. He can't listen to _jazz_ without remembering the first day he met her; their most intimate moments in his apartment, jazz filling the spaces all around them. She's woven into his memories, which makes the yawning distance between them even harder to bear - particularly at times like this, when the lack of physical distance between them is making it impossible for him to avoid thinking about her.

Her breathing is slow and even. He can tell she's sleeping deeply. And so he risks lifting up the armrest between them to make contact with her. He slides his fingers carefully towards her across her seat, expecting to find a thigh, or maybe a hand. Instead he finds a knee – it seems she has curled up sideways into her seat facing him, legs tucked up under her. He feels fingers brush against the back of his hand and freezes, worried he has woken her. But her breathing has not changed and she has not moved. And so he traces his fingers upwards along hers until his hand is covering her hand lightly, and he is tracing the bones on the back of it, the edges of her wrist.

She has lost weight. He can feel it. Her wrist and hand are bird-like, far too delicate under his fingers. Familiar rage begins to boil inside him.

This is his Annie. This is the headstrong, brave, impetuous, passionate human being who had taken on the CIA's former Head of Clandestine Services, Henry Wilcox, all on her own. Who took him down. And beneath his fingers lies the evidence of what it has cost her.

The agency, as a way of showing gratitude to the woman who exposed one of the greatest traitors of recent times, had taken Annie straight off the boat from Hong Kong, where she had killed him, into two weeks of high intensity, top level debriefing – mostly in isolation at a secluded facility nicknamed 'Bluebonnet Farm'.

She had been more than 'deep cover' - she had, to all intents and purposes been dead. (He had been one of the very few people who had known she was alive – and even he had not been able to contact her, to talk to her).

She had been completely alone, in utmost danger, and unsupported for months. And she had had no guaranteed way back in. Even when she returned, she was alive, but she was a ghost. And the CIA had not known what to do with her.

They had only cursorily considered the deep psychological impact the mission may have had on her. So they had questioned her and polygraphed her and badgered her until, after one week and four days she literally broke down.

Only then did they think to allow Joan Campbell, her boss, who had been constantly pushed away because she was 'on leave', to intervene – Joan, who like Auggie, was by that stage ready to march in, take Annie by force, and kill, with bare hands, anyone who got in her way. It was he and Joan who had carved a way home for her – who broke the news to her sister, Danielle, that Annie was still alive, who arranged for her to go to California to be with Danielle for as long as it took to heal.

It had taken five months. He had not been able to see her in all that time. They had spoken on the phone a few times – inane small talk – but as he'd said to her in Hong Kong not long before her return, nothing they had to talk about was small. Those conversations had been, as a result, stilted and painful – more frustrating than reassuring.

He'd been unsure if she'd ever come back.

But she had.

She'd returned to the DPD, still under strict psychological supervision and still not cleared for field work. She'd put her head down and done what she had to do and barely a month after getting back to work she'd been officially declared fit for field duties. But Joan and he and all the others who knew her well had been waiting for the Annie they knew to return to them. She hadn't yet. She was a phantom, a shell. And not one of them had wanted to see her back in the field.

She hadn't seemed to want to push it, either. She'd remained behind her desk without complaint, putting in her hours, and more - her standard of work as excellent as it always had been. But she'd drawn an invisible line around herself. She may as well have been working in a closed cubicle. She reached out to no one and politely discouraged attempts to reach out to her.

He had been no exception. Shortly after she'd returned to D.C. she'd come to his apartment. It had been a difficult conversation. She'd told him that she needed time and space to readjust, to rediscover who she was, and that whatever it was that lay between them was too much for her to handle. She had asked for his understanding. She'd been asking for his release.

And because he loved her, and God knew he owed it to her, he'd agreed.

And because he loves her, and God knows he owes it to her, he has tried.

But to have her so close to him every day, and yet so distant from him, is the worst kind of torture. From the first day she had walked into Langley they'd had a connection – banter, support, adventure, affection, friendship, then later love, passion, heartbreak. They'd never really tried to be separate - detached from each other - till that day in his apartment. He is realizing now that he doesn't think they can be. He has released her as much as he can, but she is an inextricable part of him, and he doesn't know how to let any more of her go. Even if she wants him to.

Even if she knows how to let _him_ go.

* * *

It is only when his elbow is jolted by a passing food cart that he realizes he must have fallen asleep after all.

"I am _so_ sorry!" The cabin attendant is full of apologies. He waves it off. He can count on the fingers of one hand the number of flights when his elbows _haven't _been victim to passing carts – which is probably why he _still_ requests window seats, to the frequent bewilderment of booking agents and check-in staff.

He checks his watch. They've been in the air for about thirteen hours – less than two hours left before they land in Johannesburg. The cabin is stirring – seats creaking, chatter beginning - people passing his seat to get to the bathroom behind them. The cabin lights must have come on. It was no doubt a breakfast cart that connected with his arm.

Next to him Annie shifts, brushes against his shoulder as she stretches and yawns. He leans towards her and very soberly, very quietly says to her: "Good morning, Laura Pritchard."

"Good morning, Owen Garrett," she replies, voice still sleepy. But he can hear the smile in it. The exchange doesn't even come close to banter, but her instinctive, immediate response carries a tiny whisper of the rapid to-and-fro that was so characteristic of them _before_. She was the queen of quick comebacks, and he was the king. And for a while they had ruled supreme. This is the first time in ten months he's heard even an echo of that.

Hope rises


	2. Chapter 2

**PART ONE**

* * *

**VIRGINIA**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1 (TWO DAYS EARLIER...)**

* * *

_Thursday June 19th, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia._

Joan Campbell closes the dossier on her desk, and rests her chin on her hands, deep in thought. Compared with the things she's been dealing with over the last six or so months, the contents of the folder in front of her seem pretty inconsequential. But instead of being passed immediately down the line to one of her division heads to investigate, as would usually be the case, this particular folder has already been on her desk for two hours. And this isn't the first time she's gone through it, either.

She mentally drops it and pushes the folder away. Reaching into her inbox she pulls out the next sheaf of paperwork requiring her attention and gets to work.

Her private line rings an hour or so into her paperwork marathon. She is grateful for the reprieve.

On the other end of the line is another former Director of Clandestine Services, the person who used to sit in the chair she now occupies - her husband, Arthur.

Smiling into the handset she asks, "How are my two boys?"

Previously the 'power couple' of the CIA – he the DCS, she the head of the Domestic Protection Division - the Campbell representation in the building at Langley has been reduced to one. The fall-out from the violent death of Henry Wilcox - the man who had sat in the wood-paneled office before either she or Arthur - and the revelations that had emerged (and were still emerging) as a consequence, had changed things for Arthur: not in terms of the damage done to his career (much of that had been repaired as charge after charge against Arthur had been proved false and dropped), but something else.

Arthur had lost a son. One he'd loved. And one whom circumstances had dictated he couldn't watch grow up.

And then he'd gained one. As Henry Wilcox's machinations were causing their lives to unravel in front of them, they'd been given a tiny miracle – something they'd given up hope on ever getting – a pregnancy.

And a baby boy.

And Arthur hadn't wanted to squander his second chance at fatherhood.

He'd informed the CIA, when they'd offered him his DCS job back, that he was willing to work as a consultant, but he no longer wanted be an employee of the CIA. Joan had whole-heartedly supported his decision. It had helped that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be likely to sit at home all day teaching himself how to knit.

And he isn't.

Arthur Campbell knows too much and has too many contacts for the CIA to truly leave him alone. Even now he is acting as a consultant on several investigations and operations.

Her face is soft as her husband tells her of his and their son's latest puréed food adventure (Mack has discovered he has a talent for blowing raspberries and particularly enjoys practicing his skills at mealtimes) but when the tale is done, and commented upon, her demeanor becomes serious. "Arthur, I need your opinion on something."

Half an hour later she is, again, elbow-deep in paperwork, but her conversation with Arthur is still playing back in her head, hampering her focus. Eventually she gives up completely and pushes the pile of documents aside, once again pulling the problematic dossier towards her.

She has made a decision.

She punches a number into the phone and waits for an answer. "Calder," she says. "Glad I caught you. Would you be able to come up? I have something I want to discuss with you."

* * *

_Fairfax, Virginia_

Arthur Campbell takes one more look into the white-painted crib that has taken up residence in the corner of the main bedroom, nearest his wife's side of the bed. Having satisfied himself that eight-month-old McKenzie Campbell, affectionately known to them as 'The Tyrant', has, in fact, fallen asleep, he quietly makes his way downstairs to his office.

His lunchtime conversation with Joan has the cogs in his head turning. He has given her his opinion regarding the specific matter on which she consulted him, but he has a gut feeling he might, possibly, be able to give her more than just that.

Turning on his computer and putting on his dark-rimmed glasses, he logs on to a popular second-hand-books website as "EyrieJane" and under the "Collectors" section of the Community Forum starts a new discussion thread: "Looking for signed First Edition of Lord of the Flies, by William Golding." He sits back for a little while after he hits 'send', removing his glasses and tapping them absent-mindedly on his desk. Then he stands and walks across his office. Opening his safe, he takes out a somewhat battered cell phone which he tucks into his pants pocket.

It's been a while since he carried two phones at once but, for the next few days at least, he'll be reverting to some old habits.

Picking up his glasses and putting them back on he opens his e-mail inbox and begins to tackle the more routine tasks waiting for him there.

* * *

_Langley, Virginia_

When Calder Michaels arrives at Joan's office, her assistant waves him through. "Go right in, Mr Michaels. She's expecting you."

He enters and Joan motions to the chairs and table arranged near the door. "Take a seat, Calder. I'll be with you in a moment."

She adds her signature to the bottom of the document on the desk in front of her and then rises, picks up a folder from her desk and comes across to join him, seating herself in the chair opposite his. She places the folder on the table between them.

Watching her, Calder reflects on how these office meetings with Joan have changed since he first arrived at Langley ten months previously.

Structurally and organizationally things are almost exactly the same as they were at that time - Arthur Campbell out of the building, Joan Campbell at his old desk and he, Calder Michaels, in her old office at the Domestic Protection Division. But so much has happened in between. Arthur has spent time in detention, Joan was relegated to a cramped desk in a pokey office in 'Crateology' and Calder has even had a short stint in the chair Joan now occupies.

Relationships have altered, too. From terseness, suspicion and distrust, Joan and Calder's relationship has moved on to one of mutual respect and cooperation. Calder doubts it will ever be warm – neither of them are particularly sentimental types, and both would likely feel uncomfortable with anything more than very business-like communication. But occasionally he sees a genuine twinkle in her eye when they interact - especially when he has allowed some of his caustic wit to break through.

He looks at her across the table, appraisingly, squinting his eyes a little.

She pushes the folder towards him a little way. "This came across my desk this morning and I wanted to talk about it with you."

Calder picks it up, flips through it briefly, and then puts it back down, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms. "Interesting," he says, "but why me? How is this in any way DPD business?"

"It's not," she acknowledges. "Usually I'd be pushing this kind of intel on to Wilson or Nicolaides to do with as they see fit."

"But…" prompts Calder.

"But…" she echoes, "As you can probably tell, there's not much time to lose on this one. We would generally set up some kind of operation today or tomorrow involving someone at Joburg station and get moving as fast as possible."

Calder is nodding. "Exactly. So why not? Why am I here?"

"Because there's a problem. The target is out of the country for two weeks and the time scale on this a little too tight for us to want to risk waiting for him to get back. Our window of opportunity may well close if we wait."

Calder interjects: "And you're not sending someone from Joburg after him?"

"If I was, you wouldn't be here."

She is watching him intently. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped. She has his full attention.

Leaning back in her chair she says, "We may still do that. We may just send someone local after him. But there's a risk of spooking him, and we really need him on our side. And," she adds, "a unique opportunity has presented itself, which could work better."

"And this is where I come in?" He moves his hands away from his chin and leans back again, palms flat on the table.

"This is where you come in."

"How?"

She looks him in the eye, face softening a little, and he begins to suspect what's coming.

She confirms it.

"We need Auggie."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

_Thursday June 19th, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia_

When Auggie Anderson hears the sliding door of his office opening he hits 'control' to pause the feedback from his computer's screen reader and looks towards the sound, pulling his headphones down around his neck as he does so.

"Auggie." It's Calder Michaels.

"Calder." Auggie waits.

"Listen up…" Calder is still in the doorway. This Auggie finds intriguing. The man's usual style is to march into Auggie's office, lean bodily over Auggie's desk and into his space, say his say abruptly, and then leave. Auggie isn't sure whether the power play moves are a hangover from the early days of their relationship – neither man had trusted or liked the other, and there had been a degree of testosterone warfare as a result – or whether that's just how Calder is. Either way, Auggie has always gotten quite a kick out of his interactions with the man. Calder doesn't seem to feel any need to tiptoe around him or cut him slack. They have been known to go toe-to-toe on things quite frequently, and Auggie appreciates the fact that Calder is more than willing to call him on anything he thinks is out of line. At the same time, the man will take plenty of bullshit right back from Auggie. There's a lot that can be said about Calder Michaels regarding his leadership style – he's a hard task-master and intolerant of mistakes - but his work ethic matches, or even exceeds, what he demands from his people. And he's fair - very, very fair.

"I need to discuss something with you. In private. Could you come up to my office when you finish…whatever it is you're doing right now?"

"Sure," replies Auggie, immediately deciding that the "whatever it is" can be interrupted. "I'll be there in five".

"Excellent," comes the reply and the sliding door is pulled shut.

Auggie sits quite still for a minute, bemused by Calder's odd behavior.

Then he shuts down the work he's been busy with, reaches into his desk drawer for his cane and leaves his office.

* * *

Calder responds to the knock on his office door with a succinct "Yes," and then, seeing that it _is_ in fact Auggie at the door, invites him in.

"Would you close the door behind you?" he asks, then states, "I think you'll want to sit down for this – it's going to take a while. There's a chair straight ahead of you at my desk."

He waits for his Head of Tech Ops to locate a seat for himself and settle into it.

He learned pretty early on that Auggie Anderson does not appreciate being manhandled in any way, having a tendency to physically (and with no attempt to hide his annoyance) brush off any imposed assistance. As a result Calder generally leaves him to his own devices, preferring to offer verbal cues and relying on his tech-wizard-slash-occasional-unofficial-field-operative to request assistance if he wants it. In Calder's experience that isn't all that often.

He hasn't failed to notice, however, that Mr. Anderson doesn't seem to reject sighted leads offered by the ladies he comes in contact with nearly as often as he does assistance offered by the men. In fact, the majority of the men who know him seem to have stopped bothering.

The ladies haven't.

Auggie Anderson has quite a way with women. Not particularly surprisingly. He's good-looking, witty, self-deprecating and very, very charming - things he had, no doubt, _also_ used successfully in the days when he was officially a field operative.

Auggie, having placed his cane in front of him on Calder's desk and seated himself, raises his eyebrows towards Calder and asks, "So, what's this about?"

Calder settles back into his own chair, his hands laced behind his head. "Joan called me in earlier today with a folder she wanted me to look at. She wants me to talk to you about it."

"OK." Auggie nods. "You have my attention. Shoot."

Calder pauses for a moment, marshaling his thoughts, trying to work out how best to lay things out for the man seated in front of him.

"All right," he begins. "How much do you know about wildlife trafficking?"

Auggie's eyebrows shoot up. "_Wildlife _trafficking?" He looks perplexed. "Not exactly in our remit, is it?"

Calder chooses not to reply – just waits for an answer to his question.

His silence has the desired effect. "Well, I know it's been thrown in with drug trafficking and other international crimes under the Transnational Organized Crime Strategy," Auggie supplies, " - that it's funding terrorist groups in Africa…Am I on the right track here?"

"You are," confirms Calder. "And as such the intelligence community has begun to pay attention to such crimes, particularly in Africa. And particularly because there are already established links with terrorist groups such as Al-Haqiqa in East Africa."

Al-Haqiqa is territory Calder knows Auggie will be more familiar with. The Al Qaeda-linked group, although not yet having claimed responsibility for any acts of terror outside of East Africa, is being watched with great concern. Not only are they willing to attack Western targets, but they've had marked success recruiting members from Western nations like the U.S. and the U.K. They are also extremely violent. Their September 2013 two-day siege of a hotel in Nairobi, Kenya, left 61 people dead (at least 40 of whom were civilians) and over one hundred wounded. They are becoming more powerful and more organized, and there are increasing concerns that they will begin moving their activities beyond the bounds of the African continent.

Calder continues: "An undercover investigation by an environmentalist group in 2011 revealed that up to 40% of Al-Haqiqa's funding at the time was coming from the illegal elephant ivory trade, mostly from Kenya. But elephant numbers there have declined significantly and Kenya has begun to tighten up its borders and policing. So that source is slowly drying up. And it looks like more and more funding is starting to come from rhino horn." He pauses to reach for the folder in front of him.

Auggie is listening attentively – he has leaned forward in his chair and his folded arms are resting on Calder's desk.

Calder shifts in his seat and changes tack. "Right. Rhino horn." He takes a breath. "So, this is a _big_ problem for South Africa. Getting bigger. Up until 2007, South Africa was losing less than 20 rhino a year. Then it started rising, rapidly." He opens the folder and begins to read figures off a graph: "83 in '08, 122 in '09, 335 in 2010…you get the picture. Then last year: 1004." He pauses. "The market for horn is increasing, the price is astronomical, the borders are leaky, corruption is the order of the day. It's rich pickings for bad guys. And it looks like Al-Haqiqa is tapping into that."

"Looks like that, how?" Auggie interrupts him.

Calder puts up a hand. "Hold on. I'm getting to that." He sits back again, leaving the folder open in front of him. "OK. Your techie buddies have been tracking Al-Haqiqa money, shutting down accounts and so on," he waves a hand vaguely in the air, "and they found a possible link between Al-Haqiqa and a businessman in Nairobi –…" he leans forward to consult the folder again, "…one Shaikh Ahmed. So we started surveillance on this guy. He's a pretty slippery customer but they managed to eavesdrop on some calls and they've been watching some of the people he does business with. Anyway, after one of these business meetings, the guy he met with made a phone call saying he'd gotten an order for 'horn'," Calder makes quotation marks in the air, "and how much did whoever was on the other end think they could supply. So _that_ was interesting."

"A connection," Auggie comments.

"Exactly." Calder is warming up to his tale – becoming more animated. He has picked up a pencil from his desk and is twirling it in his fingers. "So. Back to South Africa. There's one of our young guys at the Joburg station who's really on board with this whole poaching thing. He's cultivated himself a source in the South African Police's special anti-poaching unit who's feeding him intel on the situation from that side. The long and the short of it is that poaching is getting more and more sophisticated. There are gangs using helicopters, they've got infra-red, night vision goggles, firepower; people at the borders, in the ports, everywhere. It's a nightmare. There's one specific gang - they think it's one gang - that have been using a drug called…" he consults the folder again,"…Etorphine, or M99, instead of shooting the rhinos - it's a drug vets use when they need to tranquilize them."

"OK…" Auggie drags it out into a question. It is obvious he still can't figure out what any of this has to do with him but, to his credit, he's hanging on.

"Right. So we get the intel about this 'horn' order and less than two weeks later there are three major poaching incidents, only days apart, involving M99."

"_In_teresting…" Auggie is now leaning forward, chin in one hand.

Calder is amused. "Glad to see you're with me at last, Anderson," he comments dryly, then continues: "Our friendly rhino cop is very unhappy with the way the third poaching scene is investigated. She says the lead officer is pushing them to clear out of the way – which, to be fair, they _have_ to do because one of the rhinos actually survived the attack and they've had to get a vet in and so on. Anyway, on the scene they find an empty bottle of this M99 which she photographs. But later it's not in the evidence they collected. When she mentions it she is told that it belonged to the vet who was working on the survivor so it didn't need to be collected. But she isn't convinced." He pauses. "I need to back up a little here," he realizes. "What you need to know is that this drug is _highly_ regulated – it's only sold to vets, each bottle has a unique number and when it's sold to a vet the number is recorded together with the vet's name."

"So she traces the number from the photo, and it's not the same vet?" Auggie is extrapolating.

"Bingo." Calder points the pencil at Auggie. "So, now we have the name of a guy who is probably, at the very least, supplying these guys with the drug. And if he can be turned there might be a way in to this gang…"

"…And if we're very, very lucky, a route up the food chain." Auggie finishes for him.

"Precisely."

"So…what? The police bring him in? We liaise with them?"

"No. We can't risk that. The reason this cop is talking to Joburg in the first place is that she thinks that there are cops in her unit involved in the poaching – being paid to look the other way, to 'lose' evidence – that kind of thing. We don't want these guys spooked – this has to be done _very_ discreetly."

"Has Joburg started working on an approach?"

"They have", confirms Calder, "but there's a new development. Last night that same guy in Kenya put in another order for horn."

"Which means Joburg's gonna need to move fast," Auggie muses, "- if the speed the last order was filled with is anything to go by."

"Right," says Calder, "only our vet isn't _in_ South Africa at the moment – he's up in Namibia for two weeks doing some work for one of these 'big cat' charities."

"Ah. So Joburg guy will have to go up and get him _there._"

"Not that simple," Calder asserts. "One: Joburg guy's green - this young cop of his is the first source he's cultivated and _she_ was motivated and willing. Turning someone like this is a delicate thing, as you know, and there are serious questions as to whether he has the skills. Then there's another problem. The place where this guy's working is a hugely popular luxury tourist lodge. And they offer special package tours while the vets are there doing these 'health checks'. The tourists get to be 'volunteers' - to help the vets out - hands-on stuff. They are booked out literally years ahead of time. We can't get accommodation for him. And even if we could get him there, access to the vet is going to be a problem. These guys are apparently on the go non-stop, so unless you're one of the group actually on the ground helping out, contact time is non-existent." He pauses. Auggie is looking contemplative. "We _could _push it, and we will if we have to – Joan doesn't want to just let this go, it's too good an opportunity to pass up - but luckily another option has presented itself."

"And _this_ is why I'm here?" Auggie asks, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"This is why you're here."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

_Thursday June 19th, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia_

Auggie sits on the other side of Calder's desk, trying to make sense of everything the man has been saying. "I'm missing something here." he admits. "You need a hacker? Or…what_?_"

He stops, completely at a loss. He knows he's good at what he does, but there are other tech people who are really good at their jobs too – people that actually work in divisions that deal with non_-_domestic threats. As interesting as Calder's story has been, he can't see how it has anything to do with the DPD. And even less with _him_.

"We need a blind guy."

Calder's words floor him. He slumps back into his chair, _literally_ taken aback. "You _what_?" He runs a hand over his hair. He knows his bewilderment must be written all over him.

"We need a blind guy." Calder repeats it slowly, enunciating every word clearly. He is enjoying himself. Auggie can _hear_ the grin.

He relaxes back further, shaking his head, a smile of incredulity forming across his features. "OK, you're gonna have to lay this out for me."

"Gladly." Calder's punch-line having been delivered he gets back to business. "We really lucked out on this one. One of the people in the second-week volunteer group is a blind journalist coming specifically to write a piece on the whole 'hands-on experience' for _Go Travel _Magazine's regular _Accessible Travel _feature."

"And you want me in his place?" Auggie has made the leap and cannot stop his developing grin.

"_If_ you're willing. We've approached the journalist in question and he's willing to forgo his place in return for a replacement vacation of equal value, substantial compensation for his 'lost earnings' and a decent article for the magazine under his byline."

Auggie folds his arms. "A _mercenary_ blind guy," he says approvingly. "I like it."

"So, you want to do this?" The answer must be pretty obvious to Calder but he apparently wants to give Auggie a final chance to back out.

"Are you _kidding _me?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then. Excellent." Auggie can hear him lean forward and flip the folder on the desk closed. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought: "Joan was pretty sure you wouldn't say no."

Auggie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, Joan knows me too well." Then he's all business - sitting forward, elbows on the desk. "So, how's this gonna work? Do we sit down together and work out a plan? When will you brief me?" He pauses, realizing he hasn't even asked the primary question yet. "When am I _going?_"

Auggie is trying to mask his inner excited kid – and not entirely succeeding. Calder, however, is not responding in kind. Instead he's very quiet. Auggie sobers, sensing they're not quite done yet.

"There's one thing we need to discuss before we talk about any of that," Calder says seriously, "and that's the matter of who's going with you. Our journalist had a photographer friend going along with him – a stay-in-the-same-room kind of friend, if you know what I mean. We're going to have to replace her too."

Auggie stills. There is a silence. Calder doesn't try to fill it.

Then Auggie blows out his breath slowly – not quite a sigh, but something close to it. "You're thinking Annie."

"We are." Calder affirms. "It makes the most sense, given your guys' history – your previous experience in the field together."

"I know." This time Auggie's sigh is unmistakable. "But it's…" He hesitates, searching for the right word - finally settles on "…complicated."

"She has to get back into the fray at some stage," Calder argues. "And this is about as perfect a mission for that as you could get – it's a relatively simple job, she's got _you_, she's support, not lead…she's on a luxury vacation in _Africa_, for Chrissakes. You don't get more cushy than _that_."

_Shit_.

Auggie forces down a rising bubble of anxiety and nods. "Yeah. OK. Sound her out then." But his voice is full of uncertainty and hesitation, and betrays him.

Calder doesn't comment, instead slaps his hands onto his desk and stands up. "OK, then," he says briskly, "I'll take this back to Joan and then we'll get back to you. I guess you better start thinking about what you're going to pack, Mr. Anderson."

* * *

Forty minutes later, Auggie is back at his desk, trying to finish off a few urgent bits of work before he leaves, when he hears his door sliding open. He slips his headphones off expecting Calder to come bulldozing in. But it isn't Calder.

"Hey." She's still in the doorway – hasn't come into his office yet.

"Hey," he echoes. Then he waits.

She comes in then and stands by his desk - but she keeps it between them.

"So," she says, "Joan talked to me."

"I know." It's an inane response, but he isn't sure how to ask the question he wants to – too scared the answer won't be what he's hoping for.

"I said yes."

Relief unfurls in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his whole being. "I'm glad," he says gently.

She's quiet for a long time. Then she speaks again, her voice full of anxiety and sadness and other emotions he can't quite identify. "Do you think we can do this, Auggie? With everything so…" She doesn't finish the question. Hesitates. Starts a new one instead: "Do you think I'm ready?"

He wants so badly to reach out, to find her hand, to _hold_ it, but has to settle instead for reassuring words: "We'll be OK, Walker." He says it with as much conviction as he can muster.

He desperately hopes he's right.


	5. Chapter 5

**PART TWO**

* * *

**NAMIBIA**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4 **

* * *

_Sunday June 22nd, 2014_

_Windhoek Airport, Namibia_

Auggie Anderson and Annie Walker exit the baggage claims area of Windhoek's Hosea Kutako International Airport heading, Auggie can only presume, in the direction of the arrivals terminal.

He is on Annie's arm. It strikes him that he has probably had more physical contact with her in the twenty-two hours since they left D.C. than they have had in the entire seven months since she walked him to a noodle bar in Hong Kong – the day before she shot Henry Wilcox. That had been the last time he had touched her until her return to D.C. from California a month and a half ago.

Then there had been her visit to his apartment – a farewell embrace – and again nothing.

He is holding both his folded cane and the handle of his rolling bag in his right hand, his messenger bag across his chest. The characteristic sound of automatic doors opening is followed by a whoosh of air as Annie moves them forward into a more open space, filled with echoes and the detached, slightly metallic human buzz that characterizes most airports. The arrivals terminal.

She slows and then stops. "I can't see anyone who looks like they're looking for us." He can hear her pulling her bag alongside her to stand it up.

Letting go of her arm, Auggie does the same, then begins undoing the elastic strap around his cane to unfold it. He shakes it out and leans on it. "I have no doubt we'll be spotted," he says dryly.

They are. A bustle of footsteps is followed by a brisk, friendly voice. "Owen and Laura?"

"That's us," replies Annie. Auggie thinks wryly: Who needs a sign when you have a white cane?

The man is introducing himself to them. "I'm Michael Osterhaus from Otjindawa Lodge. I'm driving you up."

"Great! Hi!" says Annie. She sounds enthusiastic – already in her role, and maybe also responding a little to Michael's warmth. Go, girl! he thinks. "I'm Laura Pritchard." Movement and rustling indicate a handshake.

Auggie puts out a hand. "Owen Garrett," he smiles. "Good to meet you, Michael."

His hand is shaken firmly and then Michael is all business: "Is this your luggage? I'll take that. Oh and that one too? No problem." Their bags are wheeled away. "The bus is just outside. Do you guys want to follow me?" Annie brushes his hand and he takes her elbow.

"Are you looking forward to your visit with us?" Michael is ahead of them, his voice drifting back to them.

More than you could possibly know, thinks Auggie.

* * *

_Sunday June 22nd, 2014_

_Road between Windhoek and Otjiwarongo_

They share a minivan with four other members of their tour group – a German couple and a mother and daughter from the Netherlands. Michael informs them that the rest of the group are British and arrived earlier in the day.

Auggie, extremely grateful to be relegated to the back seat with Annie, leans back and, lulled by the chatter (mostly in German) between Michael and 'the tourists' and the quiet presence of _her_, finds himself drifting in and out of sleep.

He is awoken halfway through their two and a half hour drive north from Windhoek when Michael makes a brief stop in the town of Okahandja to refuel and to give them all an opportunity to stretch their legs.

Annie, after leaving him at the entrance to the men's room as per his request, heads off to find them coffee. He improvises his way through all the necessary activities and exits, mostly intact, to wait for her outside.

Approaching footsteps herald her return. When they stop, he turns. "If this journalism gig turns out to be a success," he informs her, "the next piece I write will about the trials of blind men in the public bathrooms of the world."

"That bad, huh?" she sympathizes, pressing a warm cup of coffee into his hand.

He takes a grateful sip. "You have _no_ idea," he tells her.

"Come on," she nudges him, "We have a bus to catch."

He'd negotiate a million public bathrooms just to hear that smile in her voice.

She's still very quiet on the onward journey. Eventually he leans over towards her.

"Are you awake?" he asks in a stage whisper.

"Mm-hm," comes the reply. "Just taking in the scenery."

"What does it look like out there?"

"Amazing," she says. The word is a long, contented sigh. "It's so open, Owen…_Clean_." A pause. "Flat. Like New Mexico, you know? But much…um… thornier." She laughs.

He admires her flawless adherence to their cover story, but finds himself wishing she'd called him _Auggie_.

She startles him when she suddenly clutches his arm. "Oh! Wow! Right there! On the side of the road…" He can feel her leaning forward over the seat in front of them. "Are those warthogs, Michael?"

"Yes," comes the reply. "We'll see a lot of them from here onwards. I promise you, you'll be bored of them by the time we get to the lodge."

She's seen at least twenty more warthogs by the time Michael tells them they're turning onto the gravel road leading to Otjindawa. She seems no less captivated by them then than she was at the beginning.

He, too, is _utterly_ captivated.

* * *

Their arrival at Otjindawa's Main Lodge sparks a flurry of activity. Bags are offloaded, members of staff arrive, are introduced, and then vanish again - accompanied, it seems, by luggage and either Germans or Dutch ladies. Eventually only Michael and they are left.

"I'll take you guys up to your room," he says, climbing back into the vehicle.

As he starts the engine, Michael gives them a quick overview of the layout. "So, ahead of us, as we're parked now, is the main complex of the lodge – dining room, reception desk, information, T.V. lounge, all that. If you walk down the path right in front of us you'll go in at the main entrance. In an arc to the left of us, kind of dotted in the garden, are the rooms where the vet, Dr. Bouwer, and a few of the other regular volunteers are staying at the moment. Then, to the right of the main complex is the pool and then the 'Plains Rooms' are arranged down the road from there. That's where we're putting you. In Number 3."

"So they're separate units rather than hotel-style rooms? Detached from the main building?" Auggie is trying to make sense of Michael's description.

"I suppose the word 'rooms' _i_s a bit misleading," Michael concedes. He clarifies: "No, they're all stand-alone units, spaced apart, own entrances - privacy and seclusion, you know. We don't believe in bringing people all the way out into great big Namibia and crowding them up." He laughs. "We've got space. We use it."

_Perfect_. That fact alone considerably reduces the risk of conversations being overheard, and it'll make any necessary sneaking into, and out of, other people's rooms much, much easier.

The road has been curving gently to the right, but now they peel off left and after a short distance Michael stops the vehicle.

"Here we are," he announces, "Home sweet home. I'll unlock for you quickly and then come back for your bags."

Annie clambers out of the vehicle and Auggie follows suit, pulling his cane out of his messenger bag and unfurling it as soon as he's outside. She comes around to stand next to him.

"What're we looking at?" he asks her.

She orients him. "A ramp leading up past the left side of the building, directly in front of the car," she says. "Looks like it goes up to a deck of some kind. I assume the entrance comes off there. I can't quite see – it bends away to the right. That's the way Michael went…" She brushes his hand with the back of hers. He responds to her cue, taking her elbow. "He wasn't lying about privacy," she adds in a murmur, moving them forward. "I can't see any of the other units from here."

"Sounds good," Auggie comments quietly.

"Here's the start of the ramp." Auggie explores with his cane, finding the right hand edge of it. It curves to the right as they walk up. "Oh! _Wow!_" Annie has stopped abruptly, drawing in a breath. "Yeah, there _is_ a deck up here. And a _view!_ It's just _open_ \- as far as you can see. And there's a _waterhole._ And _warthogs!_" She sounds completely enchanted.

"I see you're not bored of them yet," Michael's amused voice is coming from a little ahead of them and to the right.

"Not a _chance_," Annie replies adamantly.

Michael chuckles. "It's open," he says. "Go on in. I'll start bringing your luggage up."

* * *

They decide that they'll have lunch on their deck – Michael offers to have something light brought over to them – after which 'Laura Pritchard' will join the others on a game drive – her cameras need airing, she claims. 'Owen Garrett' opts out of the drive. He wouldn't mind a bit of down-time, he confesses - after having crammed (he fingers his watch) thirty hours into the last twenty-four, he's feeling a little jet-lagged.

In reality, rest is not what Auggie has in mind. Once Annie has been collected for her drive, Auggie gets to work mapping out their space properly. Annie has given him a brief description – "if you stand here in the doorway: table, chairs, bar fridge, kettle and coffee-making things straight ahead of you; turn left and walk in a little – bathroom area to your right; wardrobe area straight ahead, beds…" (his heart sinks slightly at the plural) "…to the left."

His own exploration reveals two double beds pushed together. A little way in front of them he finds a long, low, padded bench seat, and in front of that a massive window – 'wall of glass' would probably be more accurate. Behind the beds the wardrobe area reveals itself as consisting predominantly of open-plan, poured-concrete shelving and a hanging space, but he finds a good-sized safe and an iPod docking station there too. He congratulates himself on having managed to leave all the ornamental decor intact and undisturbed.

The bathroom area is spacious, and beautifully, _logically_, laid out – sinks and shower in a line to left along the wall opposite the doorway, toilet in a separate room on the right. His only mishap is during his investigation of the small room containing the toilet – he finds himself tangled up with what seems to be a small herd of spindly wooden giraffe. They had apparently been tranquilly inhabiting the corner of the room until he'd run into them – sending them over like a row of dominoes. Righting them (he hopes) he makes a mental note to approach the sink from the right, not the left, so as not to disturb their peace again.

He loves the feel of the place – solid concrete counter tops, clean lines, generous use of wood, sand-textured walls and soft, comfortable fabrics used for comforters and cushions.

He unpacks - Annie has left him three shelves and half of the hanging space - and then begins to set up a mini-office at the table in the corner opposite the front door. Once satisfied with the arrangement of all his equipment, and having checked everything switches on and connects as it should, he grabs his phone and cane and heads outside. Standing at the railing of the deck he puts in a call to Langley.

"Hey, Joan...Yeah, settled in here…Looks good – very private – low level of security…No, haven't met him yet – we'll see him at dinner tonight apparently…Of course…Will keep you posted…"

"And Annie?" Joan's concern is easy to discern despite distance and a somewhat crackly line.

"She's OK. _Good_, I think, actually…"

"I'm so glad, Auggie." He turns, leaning back against the railing, listening to the relief in her voice.

"Yeah. I know. Me too."

Even if nothing else goes right on their mission, this is already enough of a win for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

_Monday June 23rd, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Auggie awakens to an unidentifiable cacophony and the smell of coffee. Groggily he extracts himself from the warm cocoon of his bed and goes in search of the source of the aroma, the solution to the noise mystery, and the reason for his sleep-deprived state. He finds all three outside on the deck.

"Coffee?" Annie asks, as he emerges through the doorway. Her voice comes from the table over near the railing.

"That obvious?" he asks.

"Yup, pretty much," she states. She has no mercy.

He grunts. Crossing over, he finds a chair and pulls it out.

"Jet lag?" she asks, sympathetically.

"Something like that." He is _not_ going to confess to her that he, unlike she (who had climbed into the bed next to his and promptly fallen asleep), had spent the whole night tossing and turning precisely because she _was_ in the bed next to his.

He sits and she pushes a warm mug against his hand. "Thanks." Wrapping his fingers around it he asks, "What's making all the noise?"

She laughs. "There's a bird table down there, just outside the bedroom window. I found some bird food in a jar this morning. Now there are about ten guinea fowls all trying to stand on it at once, and there are two hornbills in a tree unhappy about not getting a piece of the action. It's like a kindergarten playground."

"It's _loud_." He winces.

"I know. Sorry." She does sound a little contrite, to her credit. "I didn't realize. Next time I'll wait till you're fully awake." Mostly, though, she is laughing at him.

"Next time I'll have hidden the bird food," he grumbles.

"Oh yeah?" She pushes back her chair. "Well, while _you're_ trying to turn into a nice person," she announces, standing up, "_I'm_ going to take a shower." She leaves him with the coffee pot and the (thankfully subsiding) bird melee. The scuffle, it seems, is over, and he's able to appreciate other, subtler contributions to the dawn chorus. The oddly melodious jumble of twitters, whistles, clicks and buzzes combines with a decided chill in the air and the undefinable scent that he is coming to associate with this vast, uncluttered space. It creeps slowly into his consciousness. He starts to feel more human again. He reaches for more coffee.

He can hear her moving around inside.

This place is working some kind of magic on Annie. She is undeniably re-emerging, as if from a long hibernation. She'd been breathtaking at dinner last night: vivacious, engaging, charming the other guests over dinner - many of whom had apparently already been very taken with her on their earlier game drive. Laura Pritchard, it seems, is a social butterfly, and she's bringing Annie Walker right along with her. And Auggie Anderson is beginning to reap the benefits.

But her banter this morning, if he's honest with himself, has produced mixed feelings in him – happiness, definitely; but also dissatisfaction, longing, and sadness for the lost months.

"_Shit!"_ The muffled curse drifts through the open door.

"Everything OK in there?" he calls, leaning back in his chair in order to direct his question indoors.

"Yeah, fine." But she sounds harassed. "I just went and knocked over a whole herd of giraffe in here."

He snorts into his remaining coffee.

* * *

They save their 'mission discussion' for the walk over to breakfast. Auggie is not on Annie's arm this time, wanting to map out the route for himself.

_Straight ahead from end of ramp. Find half-buried rock on the right. Pass it. Turn right onto the road._

"So, what's the plan?" Annie asks him.

_Keep right. Use the dirt ridge on road edge as guide._

He sighs. "Feels like we're starting at ground zero here," he admits, knowing his frustration is coming out in his voice. "We've got _nothing_ so far."

As good as their dinner had been the previous night, and as wonderful as it had been to be next to Annie as she charmed staff, members of the official team and their 'fellow tourists', mission-wise the evening had been a dead end. They had at least been introduced to Dr. Jaco Bouwer ('YAH-koo', Auggie had noted, not 'Jacko' as he'd been reading it in his head). However, after a brief, unenlightening, _where are you from?_ conversation, the man had been appropriated by Holly Webster, director of The BornWild Foundation, and, along with Michael, had spent the rest of the evening with her, their heads together, presumably talking logistics for the week ahead.

Annie and Auggie haven't been able to extract any useful information from anyone else about him either. 'Quiet, but nice' seems to be the general consensus. Not helpful.

They still have no more than the scant information they left D.C. with:

_Full Name: Willem Jacobus Bouwer._

_Age: 38._

_Marital Status: Widowed (2012)_

_Wife's name: Michelle Bouwer._

_Cause of death: Gunshot wound during armed robbery. Perpetrators still at large._

_Children: None._

_Nationality: South African. (Has never lived or worked outside South Africa)_

_Native Language: Afrikaans._

_Occupation: Veterinarian – Private Wildlife Practice._

_Place of Residence: Malelane, Mpumalanga (From 2012)._

_Previous Place of Residence: Johannesburg._

_Facebook Profile: None._

_Twitter Profile: None_.

Apart from the nature of his wife's death (and that's not as uncommon in South Africa as it would be in many other countries) nothing in his file is outstanding. His internet presence is minimal. Either he's a naturally private person, or he hides himself well.

"There's still time, Auggie" says Annie, obviously picking up on his mood. "We'll be able to get a better handle on things once we know what's going on over the next few days…" She interrupts herself. "Path's coming up, by the way. There's a rock on either side of it, marking it…"

_There. Fork to the right._

"So, what are our priorities?" She's back on mission.

The path is really only wide enough for one (he'd had to get behind her for quite of a bit of the way when they walked to and from dinner the night before) and so she's let him go ahead, choosing to bring up the rear.

_Go with the path. Smaller cane arcs to avoid tangling with the grass on either side._

"One of us is going to have to try and get close to him – to feel him out. Guess we'll have to see how things go." He turns over his shoulder. "He _is_ single. Maybe you can use your womanly wiles on him." He waggles his eyebrows for effect.

"He's _widowed,_" she corrects him.

"Yeah. So?" he shoots her a grin.

She coughs. She's probably shooting him a dirty look.

He continues, undeterred. "Keep an eye out for laptops, phones, anything like that. Maybe we can find something we can use for leverage."

"You're thinking we break into his room?"

"Well, let's see if we can do it another way first. But, yeah, if we have to."

"How long _do_ you think we have?"

"A few days at least. Don't want to rush and spook him. Let's get a handle on him first – find a good, strong angle if we can."

"OK. Sounds good," she says, and goes quiet.

It's just past 7 am and the air's still cold – it's winter after all – but he can feel the sun on his face starting to warm it. They'll be removing layers not too long from now. Her footsteps are crunching behind him, mingling with the early morning bush sounds. He wonders what shoes she's wearing.

He stops suddenly. "Where'd the path go?" he asks. He's lost both edges.

"Oh. It kind of opens up here into a…parking area, maybe?" She pauses. "Yeah. Probably. The pool's just across there."

"So, where do I go?"

"Uh…If you go straight ahead you'll get to a low stone wall…yeah, that's it. OK, follow it to the left…there's a gap…There…Go through."

_And there's the concrete path that leads to the side entrance of the dining room. Doable._

He's fully aware that finding that path on the way back is not going to be as straightforward_._

"Thanks."

He waits for her at the open door and ushers her in ahead of him.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 6**

* * *

_Monday June 23rd, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Holly Webster is a compact fireball of energy with, according to Annie, hair to match. For some reason she makes Auggie think of his third grade teacher. Perhaps it's the way she herds them all into the game viewing vehicle that is to be their on-site transport for the week – urging them along as if they're so many wayward eight-year olds.

She drives like Annie Walker.

As they hurtle towards the BornWild Center – thankfully, he's told, only a short distance from the lodge - Holly is yelling information over her shoulder at them.

"Most of these cats we're doing this week are our 'rescue' cats," she tells them. "Our main focus is obviously trying to keep the cats in the wild – working with the farmers, education and so on. But sometimes we can't persuade a farmer not to shoot, or can't find somewhere else local to move a cat, and so we bring them here. If they're young enough when they come in we do our best to rehab them – release them onto the large reserve here at Otjindawa – but if we can't, or if they don't do well, they stay here in the big camps at BornWild. We have just over forty cats here at the moment." She swings the vehicle violently around a bend. Auggie tightens his grip on the seat in front of him. "We specialize in cheetahs, but we have a handful of lions, leopards and caracals too."

When they arrive at the clinic she briskly talks them through the process. Two cats will be darted at a time. Once asleep they will be brought back to the clinic on the back of open vehicles, monitored all the time for signs of overheating. On arrival they will be carried quickly to the scale outside the clinic, weighed and then taken immediately to one of two treatment tables. Each cat will be connected by a vet to a gas anesthetic circuit. The vets will then check them over thoroughly, vaccinate them, treat them and will take blood, urine and other samples. The volunteers will assist. They will please listen carefully and do exactly as the vets ask. Once everything has been done, each cat will be given an antidote to the tranquilizer and placed into a crate to wake up. A volunteer must stay at the crate to keep an eye on them, and time their recovery, and once they are steady and standing they will be loaded back onto a vehicle and released back into their camp.

"We want to keep the cats under anesthetic for as short a time as possible." she instructs them, "So I need you guys to pay attention and learn fast." She claps her hands briskly. "Right! Everyone with me?"

Auggie is. Right back in that third grade classroom.

"The vets have already gone out to dart the first two cats. I need two groups of five – one group for each cheetah." She pauses. "That means one of you lovely pairs is going to have to split up…"

Auggie immediately spots the opportunity presenting itself. He feels for Annie's hand and squeezes it. "Laura and I will," he volunteers. Perfect. One of them is guaranteed to be working with Jaco Bouwer all day.

"Are you sure?" It's the first time since he met her Auggie has heard Holly sound unsure. Wasn't expecting that, he thinks wryly.

"Fine with me," Annie backs him up. She gives Auggie's hand a squeeze in return and lets it go. Message communicated.

"All right…" Holly still sounds a little hesitant, but she's getting over it quickly enough. "Michael, you take Owen, Heike, Ernst, Marijke, Eva and show them what's what. They can work at the first station. The rest of you, come with me."

An unexpected image of ducklings lining up behind their mother forms in Auggie's mind. Annie whispers "Good thinking," in his ear and gives his arm a squeeze. She disappears - presumably following the other ducklings.

"Owen?" Michael is next to him in Annie's vacated space. "What's the best way for me to show you around?"

Auggie appreciates the simplicity of that question more than Michael will ever know. Too many people presume – grabbing him, pushing or pulling him wherever they think he needs to go. Too many people are too embarrassed to just ask what he wants, or whether he even wants anything. Too few people do him the courtesy of believing that maybe he knows what he needs better than anyone else.

It still grates, even after all this time.

* * *

Auggie's just gotten the outline of the place (kitchen with bottomless pot of coffee - nice; bathrooms; 'museum'; lecture hall; office. And then the clinic: loading area; table with scale just outside the door on the left; double doors into the clinic itself; an immediate left to find their station; examination table with light; cart with anesthetic machine; several other medical carts dotted about with an alarming amount of loose equipment on them) when Michael's radio crackles to life. "First two cats on the way."

The potentially disastrous equipment-cluttered carts make his decision for him.

"Michael, I'm gonna wait this part out. Where will I be out of the traffic?"

"Are you sure? I'm really happy for you to stick with me if you want."

"I'm sure. Get these first guys in without worrying about me getting run over. Or running over something. I'll figure things out quickly enough. Hang with you for the next round?"

"I'll hold you to that." His smile is apparent in his voice. "Just so you know."

"I've been warned." Auggie grins at him. "Now direct me."

"You're good where you are, actually." They're standing between the examination table and the clinic wall. "Maybe just back up against the wall until they've got the cat settled? Then you'll be in the clear. I'm going to head back outside, OK?"

"Fine." Auggie leans back against the wall, folds up his cane, crosses his arms and waits.

He can hear the first vehicle arriving and being backed up into the loading area. Michael, enthusiastic as ever, is yelling directions. "Come…more…OK, stop." The sound of a hand banging the side of a vehicle accompanies the last injunction. The engine is cut and there are sounds of feet landing as people jump down.

Holly's "Quick! Get her on the scale!" is followed by a "1-2-3-lift" count by (he thinks) Jaco Bouwer.

"Mind! Mind! Out the way!" Teacher Holly. Auggie congratulates himself on already being out of the way.

A woman's voice - British accent - calls "Thirty-two point two." The cheetah is on the scale.

Grunting and rapid scuffling footsteps are coming into the clinic, towards him. This is their cheetah. He is going to be the one closest to Jaco Bouwer today. Mentally he pumps a fist. Sorry, Annie.

The arrival of the second vehicle coincides with the settling of the cheetah on the table in front of him. Jaco Bouwer's measured, precise, accented tones demarcate the activities.

"There. The tube is in. Could you connect her up please, Julie?" So the British accent belongs to the veterinary nurse - the two volunteer vets must be supervising the process on Annie's cat.

"She has a lot of flies on her," the vet notes. She's shared one with Auggie. He brushes it out of his hair. It's persistent. "Ernst, would you please put some of that fly powder onto her. A little more here? Yes, that's good. Thank you. Now rub it in like this. Yes. Good. These are called 'louse flies'. They're becoming an increasing problem here, we think because of higher rainfall in recent years."

The man is a fount of information.

"What is her temperature?" he asks.

"Thirty-nine point two." Julie-the-nurse again.

"That's fine. The anesthetic level looks stable. Let's get to work, then. Julie, could you demonstrate how we take the temperature so that someone can monitor that? Readings every two minutes please and note them on the chart. Also, how to take the body length measurements for the BMI? Let's get someone going with those. Thank you."

He speaks the very correct, non-idiomatic English of a non-native speaker. He is polite to a fault.

Just as Auggie's wondering how safe it is to make his way forward, Jaco Bouwer speaks quietly over his shoulder to him.

"It's all clear now, Owen. You can come and meet her if you like." Touching Auggie lightly under the elbow, he ushers him forward. Auggie finds the edge of the table with his folded cane. "She's lying on her right side, back to you, head to your right. She's intubated so there's a tube coming from her mouth connecting her to the anesthetic machine. She has an intravenous catheter in her front foreleg in case we need to administer any drugs quickly. That's all you will need to be careful of."

"I can touch her?"

"Of course. Please."

Auggie lays the cane on the table and then slides his hands, fingertips down, carefully forwards until the back of his fingers make contact with the cheetah's back. He measures the length of her spine with them, left and right, feeling bony ridges. Tracing his fingertips up and over her back he finds her side and then, palms down, gauges the dimensions of her chest and abdomen. She's slender - chest deep from spine to sternum, but narrow from side to side. He can feel her ribs.

Her coat surprises him. It's coarse – rough under his fingertips. He can feel dirt, matted fur. His fingers find a grass burr. He pulls it free.

"Many people are surprised at how dirty they are." Jaco Bouwer must be watching him. For the first time Auggie can hear a slight smile in the vet's voice. "They're not like other cats when it comes to grooming. We'll comb her out nicely before we wake her up."

Auggie tracks carefully to the right along her body, reaching her neck. "What's this?" He has found some sort of bandage running across her neck - tied around the back of her head.

"That's the tie holding the endotracheal tube in place – the tube that feeds the anesthetic gas into her lungs."

Two round ears. Thumbs over a broad forehead. He traces the side of her face with the backs of two fingers. Shorter fur. Turns his hand over. Fingers the side of her muzzle carefully. He'd wondered about the characteristic 'tear tracks' - whether he'd be able to distinguish them. He can't. All of the fur feels the same.

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes. They all do. She's called Marge. The other cheetah here is Lisa."

"The Simpsons?" Auggie quirks an eyebrow, amused.

"Yeah. Bart and Homer will be the next two," Julie's voice comes from the other end of the table. "Holly's not into obvious names. And she likes themes."

"TV shows?"

"All sorts. You'll see."

"Owen?" It's Jaco Bouwer's quiet voice from in front of him again. "Would you be able to extend her neck for me so I can draw blood?"

"Sure. Show me what to do." He lifts his hands away from the cat.

Jaco comes around the table to stand next to him.

"Put your right hand on the side of her face, like this. Can you feel how I'm doing it?" Auggie reaches out. The vet's hand is over the side of the cat's face, fingers under the jaw pulling the head back.

"Yeah."

"All right. My left hand is on her shoulder." Auggie finds it. "You'll need to put your thumb in here for me. In this groove between the bone and her wind pipe. Can you feel that?"

Yeah. Got it."

"That closes her jugular off at the base so I can find it easily up here on the side of the neck. That's where I collect the blood. You can feel the groove where it runs up the side of her neck." Auggie traces it up. Holly Webster may have the schoolmarm demeanor, but it's Jaco Bouwer who is the real teacher here.

"Could you pull her head back for me then, please? I'm going to clean the area with some disinfectant." Auggie can smell it. "All right, now close off the jugular for me, please." Auggie does.

Around him the other volunteers are busy too: calling out body length measurements and temperatures; commenting on clusters of grass seeds in the fur (they must be grooming Marge to within an inch of her life). There are complaints about the flies.

"Anyone wanna volunteer to swat the guy crawling up the back of my neck?" Auggie interjects, looking up with a grin. "My hands are kinda full right now, and it's driving me crazy." He exaggerates a pained look.

There is laughter. A hand brushes the fly away. "There you go. It's gone. They're awful, aren't they?" It's Eva, the Dutch daughter.

He has broken through the barrier of awkwardness that all too often stands between him and people who don't know him. The general chatter expands to include him.

And he hadn't even needed a blind joke.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined himself doing anything like this. It's far enough removed from his normal context to be surreal.

He realizes to his surprise that he is actually enjoying himself. He'd almost forgotten that feeling.

* * *

Distracted for a moment by the laughter from the other table Annie looks up from where she is taking a shoulder to foot measurement on Lisa.

Auggie is holding the other cheetah in position for Jaco Bouwer while the vet draws a blood sample. She watches as the Dutch teenager brushes a fly off the back of his neck. He is talking, laughing with the others at the table – confident, self-assured. Quintessential Auggie.

Her heart contracts.

Jaco Bouwer looks up, says something to him. He smiles; lets the cheetah's head go; says something to the vet, who puts down the blood tubes and then bends the cat's foreleg for Auggie, guiding his left hand down it. Auggie has to lean over in order to assess the full length of the leg. He fingers the cheetah's paw as the vet earnestly explains something to him. He is so obviously engaged with what the man is saying – giving him his full focus.

That too is Auggie. He's never half with you. She has always thought that's why he has so many friends. He makes people feel like they matter to him.

He makes her feel like she matters to him. He always has.

He won't tell her that any more, though. Because she has asked him not to. And Auggie, being Auggie, respects that.

For the first time in a very long time she wishes he didn't.

She pushes the wish back down. Each of them has made terrible choices. They seem unable to help themselves. They keep poisoning the beautiful thing between them, over and over again. And she can't live with the constant tension, the guilt, the hurt, any more. She needs some kind of peace, emotional safety.

This place is making that too easy to forget.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 7**

* * *

_Monday June 23rd, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Annie finds Auggie leaning against the wall of the center's kitchen, just down from the outside hand-washing sink. He is standing in a pool of morning sun, eyes closed, cane resting loosely against his shoulder. His hands cradle a cup of coffee.

"Didn't take you long to find the caffeine, I see," she says, leaning up against the wall next to him.

"I have my priorities," he tells her, opening his eyes. Then he turns to smile at her. "Actually, Michael took pity on me. I think he's appointed himself coffee-angel this morning."

As if to prove Auggie's point, the dark-haired young man with the easy smile is approaching. "Owen, you still OK? Laura? Coffee for you? I'm pouring."

"Please! You're a lifesaver, Michael!" She sends him a radiant, Laura Pritchard smile.

Michael, baasking under the glow of it, blushes and stammers a little through his "No problem at all. How do you take it?" He gallops off eagerly.

Auggie is chuckling. "Didn't take you long to get him under your spell."

"Some things are just so easy," she replies smugly. "A flutter of the eyelids, a 'special' smile…"

"Wouldn't get far with that kind of thing with me." He's grinning. "I'm a much tougher sell." He winks at her. She digs an elbow into him in return. Then she turns serious.

"Listen," she says quietly to him, "I think I've found Jaco's laptop."

His face changes. He raises his eyebrows at her. "You don't waste time, do you. Miss Walker?" She's surprised him. She feels a swell of satisfaction. "What's the score?"

"Hold on." She puts a warning hand on Auggie's arm. Michael is bearing down on them.

She plays Laura Pritchard for all she's worth. "Oh, Michael, you're an absolute star! Thanks so much!" Coffee is received, more effusive gratitude expressed and Michael departs to offer coffee to the two volunteers monitoring the cheetahs waking in the crates. He takes Auggie's empty mug with him.

Auggie has his hand on her elbow. "Let's go somewhere where he can't find us," he says.

She leads them around to the other side of the kitchen, a little distance away from the clinic. Stopping them under a thorn tree she turns to face him. Breaks contact with him.

"I asked Michael if there was somewhere secure I could keep my camera equipment. Figured if Jaco had a laptop and brought it down to the clinic he might want to store in a safe place…"

"And you hit the jackpot?"

"I think so." She elaborates for him. "There's a locked storeroom at the far end of the clinic where they keep the drugs and the dart gun and things. Michael let me put my stuff there. Didn't have a chance to have a good look around, but there was what looked like a laptop bag, branded with a South African Veterinary Association logo…"

"Nice work." Auggie is looking thoughtful. His forehead is creased in that tell-tale way of his. "What d'you think your chances are of getting a look in that bag?"

"I can figure something out." She is certain of it. She has Michael wrapped around her finger already, after all.

"OK. Great." He sounds distracted. She'd be offended, but she knows him well enough to know that it means he's already planning their next move. "If you find it, I'll need you to have a look at the make for me. If you get a chance to turn it on, boot it up, see if you can figure out what operating system he's running, and maybe antivirus software? That'll be even better. Not crucial, but it'll mean I can tailor something and we can get in faster."

"Spyware?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"OK. I'll see what I can do."

He doesn't respond. She gulps down her coffee and then gives him her arm again. "Come on. Let's go back before Michael sends out a search party for us."

* * *

They have barely gotten back around to the other side of the kitchen when Michael finds them. He's a little breathless.

"Listen, Owen. Sorry. Bit of a problem. The guys that went out with the vets this morning are going to take the cheetahs back now, as soon as they're awake. Which means they need me to go out on the second vehicle when Jaco darts these two. To help with the lifting and carrying and things. So I'm going to have to abandon you."

And spend a little more time in the vicinity of Laura Pritchard, thinks Auggie to himself, amused. He is finding Michael's crush on Annie seriously entertaining. And there's no question it could be useful. "No problem. You go on ahead. I'm good to just hang on here till you guys get back."

"You're sure? We won't be more than half an hour or so. We just want to get these next two done before it gets too hot, and it's warming up quite quickly today. Otherwise we would have waited until the guys got back from off-loading Marge and Lisa."

"I'm sure. Really. Go on. Take Laura with you."

If there's anything both spies and blind men know, it's how to wait.

Auggie makes his way to one of the picnic tables set out in the courtyard between the kitchen and the lecture hall, sits down on a bench, folds up his cane, and prepares to enjoy a half hour of winter sun and his own thoughts. Drifting in from behind him come the mingled sounds of voices and equipment being loaded onto vehicles in preparation for the next two cheetahs.

"Owen." Jaco Bouwer's voice, right at his shoulder, startles him. He hadn't heard the man's approach. Hadn't been focusing. "Are you coming?"

Auggie is confused. "I was gonna stick around here, actually. Didn't think there was space for me." Translation: Risk of me making a spectacle of myself out there is pretty high. I'll stay put.

"There is space. If you want to come, please come. I'll make sure you know what's happening and what to do." There is obviously nothing wrong with Jaco's translation skills. Then Jaco ramps up the sales pitch. "I could actually do with another hand when it comes to lifting. Ernst is willing but his wife is worried about his back." That slight smile is in his voice again.

The smile is the thing that clinches it for Auggie. He can feel he's developing a connection with this man. The more he can do that, the easier it will be for them to turn him when the time comes. What's a bit of potential lost face in the bigger picture?

"OK. You win. I'm sold." He gives the vet a smile. Standing, he shakes out his cane and puts out his left hand. "Lead the way."

* * *

In the end, Auggie manages to emerge from the entire experience completely unscathed, largely due to Jaco's singular attention to detail and his penchant for information sharing.

By the time they move off he already knows the make of vehicle (Toyota Land Cruiser, single cab, open back), the layout (bench along the length of each side, tailgate – open, bars on sides and back – good handholds), what equipment they have and where (Jaco's darting box, medical kit, plastic tub with various items on the left hand bench near the front; stretcher on the floor between the two benches; bucket with wet towels on the floor next to the stretcher, front left, in case they have a cheetah that overheats; oxygen cylinder next to that; dart gun in its case on right hand bench near the front), and where best to stand (left hand side, back against the cab – that way there is something to hold on to on both sides - roof and side bars).

Jaco is next to him at the front – presumably monitoring the safety of the gun and the oxygen cylinder. The vet stands with his back against the cab as they drive, painstakingly answering all the questions put to him by the others in the group.

They stop near the small management camp where Bart and Homer (Auggie still finds that funny) have been moved in readiness for the morning's procedure. Everyone clambers off the vehicles. Jaco doesn't offer any physical assistance to Auggie, merely informs him that he has a clear path down the left hand side to the tail gate and lets him organize himself. It's good enough. When Auggie hops down he discovers Annie has come across from the other vehicle and is waiting for him.

"Thought you weren't coming," she says.

"So did I." He smiles. "Jaco had other ideas."

She pulls him a little away from the others. "You like him." She says it appraisingly. He can't decide whether or not he's picking up a hint of accusation in her tone too. He lets it ride.

Shrugging non-committally he says, "I'm building up some rapport with him."

She makes no reply.

He asks: "What's happening?"

"He's doing things with drug bottles and syringes and tranquilizer darts. Getting the drugs into the darts, I guess." She pauses. "Now he's getting the gun out of the case."

Jaco's voice cuts across the general chatter. "OK, everyone. I'm going to go up now and dart the two cheetahs. I want only Michael, Paul and Owen with me. If the rest of you can have the vehicles ready to reverse up to the gate so that we can load and go as soon as I radio you that they're down, please? Julie, Sarah and Bianca will show you what to do. The first cheetah to go down will go in with Sarah and Bianca's team. My group, we'll take the second one."

Hell. This is going to be interesting.

Jaco is at his side. "Owen? Are you ready?"

"What exactly are you gonna need me to do?"

"You'll come down with me now. You can wait with Paul and Michael while I dart the cats. Once they're both down I'll bring you with me into the camp. I'm going to need you to carry the cheetah with me to the vehicle – it's about thirty meters, even ground - and help me load him in once we get there."

"OK. Sounds doable." He hopes so, anyway. One problem though. "Is my cane gonna be in the way? Should I leave it here?"

There's a pause. "Yes. Maybe. If you're comfortable with that."

He isn't. But he's not going to admit it.

Annie pipes up. She's obviously been listening to their conversation. "I can take it if you want. I'll put it up on your vehicle - on the bench next to where you were standing."

Better Annie than someone else.

He folds it up. Holds it out. She takes it. Touches him on the arm. "Have fun," she says.

* * *

Jaco takes him and the other two men a good distance further up the road and then stops. "If you could wait here," he says, "I'm going to go on ahead. They're less nervous if they see just one person rather than a group. I'll come back for you once the darts are in."

They stand and wait. Auggie feels adrift without his cane. It's amazing how much he's come to rely on it as an anchor. Standing in the middle of open space like this with nothing to ground him is disorienting. He bottles the slight anxiety that wells up.

The loud pop of a gun sounds, and shortly thereafter a second one. Within a minute Jaco is back. "Two clean shoulder shots." He sounds pleased. "We can go and wait at the gate." He offers Auggie a lead.

While they walk Auggie asks him about the gun. "Gas propulsion?" he asks. "Sounded like it. Relatively quiet."

"Yes. C02. This is a Dan-Inject JM Special. The other type of gun I use, Pneu-Dart, uses .22 blanks. It's a lot louder." They've stopped. Auggie assumes they're at the gate. "Here. Would you like to have a look?" Jaco asks.

"Sure."

"OK. Hold out your hands. I'm going to pass it over to you. It's not loaded."

Auggie holds out his hands. The rifle arrives in his hands. He examines it with interest – long, narrow barrel extending all the way from front to back, metal mid-section with sight above and trigger below; hand grip behind the trigger; distinctive oblong metal canister screwed above and in front of the trigger with a dial just behind. "Pressure regulator," Jaco says. "And then behind that is the pressure gauge." Auggie fingers it. "And the pressure chamber is just behind that. Yes, that's it - that long cylinder under the barrel behind the trigger." Right at the back, above the plastic shoulder-stock Auggie finds a protruding lever. "That's where we load the darts," Jaco tells him. "You unscrew that and then push the dart into the barrel. It's very simple."

"What's the range?" Auggie asks. He's missed gun talk.

"Maximum thirty meters. But I try to go for twenty meters or closer. There's more guarantee you'll get the dart in where you want to that way, that you don't have to take a second shot. The darts hurt."

"That's pretty close." Auggie is surprised. "Must be hard to get that right when you're darting in the wild."

"It is. I've had to wait for hours in trees before to get a decent shot."

"It's true," says Michael. "I've seen it." There is general laughter.

The cats are apparently going down. Once Jaco has determined it's safe for them all to go in, he radios the vehicles to come down to the gate.

He comes back to them. "You and Paul take Homer," he tells Michael. "Owen and I will fetch Bart." He touches the back of Auggie's left hand. "Let's go," he says.

They reach the cheetah. Jaco orients him and then instructs him on the carrying. "You just want to scoop both arms under the abdomen and let the hind quarters and tail rest over your arm. I'll be supporting the chest. You ready?"

_As ready as I'll ever be_. He has squatted down, hands under the cat's abdomen. "Ready."

"On three. One…two…three," and they're up. "Come alongside me," Jaco directs. Auggie does. "Good. Let's go…"

They go.

* * *

They arrive at their vehicle just as the other one is driving away. Jaco calls to someone on the back, "Here, take him," and Auggie can feel the cat being pulled forward. "That's it – let's just lay him on his left side like that." Jaco assists him.

"He's in, Owen. I'm just climbing up, now." There's a grunt from the vet and then: "Give me your hand". Auggie reaches up with his left hand. His right hand finds the edge of the tailgate and he gets his foot up onto it. He is hauled up. He makes his way carefully up the left side of the vehicle – feet feeling the way carefully between the cheetah's back and the bottom of the bench, hand on the side rail of the vehicle. One of the volunteers is calling out the cheetah's temperatures. Jaco is already at the front. He bangs on the roof of the cab. "Let's go." he says. The vehicle accelerates.

Auggie arrives to stand next to Jaco. He leans back against the cab. He can feel himself grinning.

"Thank you. Nice work," he is told. A hand claps him on the front of his shoulder. The vet is facing forward this time. Auggie turns around too. The wind blows into his face as they drive.

He doesn't even bother to look for his cane until they reach the clinic.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 8**

* * *

_Monday 23rd June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Annie deserts him after lunch.

She's told him all about her frustrating morning trying to have a look at Jaco Bouwer's laptop. She'd gone into photographer mode – Laura Pritchard in her element – taking photos of everything – cheetahs, volunteers, interior and exterior of the clinic. (And no, he had not failed to notice how many photographs she'd taken of Owen Garrett. That had been encouraging).

Though the photography had necessitated frequent trips into the storeroom to fetch alternative lenses, her flash, another memory card, she'd been unable to capitalize on any of those visits. Apparently, the clinic refrigerator is also in the back room and the vets were constantly walking in and out to put samples into it and take vaccines out.

The risk of being caught had just been too great.

Jaco Bouwer hasn't been at lunch. Michael, coming over to join them towards the end of lunch, tells them the vet was still up at the office doing admin work.

Annie asks Michael if there would be a problem if she were to walk up to the clinic. "To reorganize my camera gear. I left it in such a mess." She's apparently spotted another potential opportunity. The Laura Pritchard charm is out in force again.

"Oh, no need to walk! I can give you a lift up on the quad bike." Michael sounds even more enthusiastic than usual.

"Really. It's no problem." Annie obviously hasn't missed the slight quirk of Auggie's eyebrows. She sounds like she's suppressing a giggle. "I'd prefer to walk, actually. It's such a gorgeous day." Poor Michael. "Will I be able to get into the back room when I get there?"

"Yes." Is Michael sounding a little forlorn? "If it's not open, Jaco has the keys with him."

"Awesome! Thanks."

"While I'm here, Owen," Michael is recovering nicely, "you remember you wanted to talk to Jennifer to get background information for your article?"

Auggie nods. "Yeah?"

"She wanted to know if you could perhaps meet with her straight after lunch."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Where does she want to meet?"

"Here, if that suits you. She said she'd come down and find you. I'll just give her a ring quickly and let her know."

His footsteps disappear in the direction of the reception desk and presumably the phone.

Annie leans over to him and whispers: "Who's Jennifer?"

"No idea." says Auggie. He grins, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. "This could be interesting."

"It could," she muses. "I'm kinda sorry I'm not going to be here to watch."

"You abandoning me in my time of need, Walker?"

"Yep," she says cheerfully. Mercilessly. "I have other plans."

"Oh, you do, do you?" There is a flirtatious undercurrent in the air. It's tantalizing.

He wants to capitalize on it, to search for her hand, but the unmistakable sound of approaching footfalls interrupts them. Damn.

"She's on her way down," announces Michael. "Won't be too long."

"That's my cue, then," says Annie. "I'll head off." Standing up, she places a hand on Auggie's shoulder and bends to down to whisper in his ear. "Be nice to the boy." His frustration at the interruption must have shown on his face.

Then she kisses him on the cheek. "Bye," she says out loud. "See you a bit later?"

"Yep." He catches her hand. Gives it a little squeeze. Lets her go.

"Bye, Michael," calls Annie, breezily.

* * *

Auggie uses the brief time he has before his meeting with the mysterious Jennifer to compose several (he hopes) journalistic-sounding questions about the set-up at Otjindawa. He has assumed, from Michael's initial message, that this is what the meeting will be about.

He doesn't have long to wait.

Determined footsteps (two sets?) coming towards him are followed by a confident "Owen Garrett? I'm Jenny Brandreth."

Auggie begins to rise, but is told "Please, don't stand. We'll join you here, if you don't mind."

We? Auggie is just about to ask when Michael announces himself. "Hi Owen. Sorry, you can't get rid of me today. Jennifer thought it would be good if I sit in on this too."

"Two for the price of one? Even better." Auggie smiles at him. He means it.

He has finally figured out who Jennifer is. Previously known only to them as J. M. Brandreth, she is the eldest of the trio of siblings who own and manage Otjindawa – the others being Holly, the youngest, and a brother in the middle. As such she's the big, big boss. He's sure he should be feeling flattered she's introduced herself as 'Jenny'.

Jennifer gets straight to the point. The meeting, it seems, is going to be all about the article. "We want to answer your questions as fully as we can." The subtext is: 'We want to make sure you write a glowing article on your experiences at our establishment. And get everything right.'

You really don't need to worry, you know.

He almost feels guilty stringing them along. He poses his few questions, recording their answers.

Jennifer know how to sell what they do, and sell it well. He's delighted. As part of their deal he's going to have to actually write this article for Owen Garrett (an idea he's not relishing). If this woman is going to feed him great lines - and she's a consummate sound bite pro - he's absolutely going to take them. He's already mentally lifting large chunks of what they've told him straight out of his voice memos and into that article. Win.

Jennifer changes tack. "If we've answered everything you wanted to know, maybe you wouldn't mind us turning the tables on you for a bit?"

"Sure. What do you wanna know?"

"Good. Let's start with this. How are we doing?"

He's confused. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean…" A pause as if she's gathering her thoughts. "…we built our accommodation with wheelchair access in mind and we've had several guests here with…mobility impairments but, until you approached us, we hadn't really thought about how what we do here might be particularly...accessible…for someone who is...visually disabled..."

_You can say 'blind_,' he thinks. _I won't make you wash your mouth out with soap_.

He can't decide if he finds her careful 'political correctness' irritating or amusing. He's a 'call a spade a spade' kind of guy and, though he respects other people's views on the subject, he generally finds tiptoeing around terminology exhausting.

"Um…" he says.

"What we're asking, really," she says, "is, is there more we can do? To make the experience better."

"For a blind guy?"

"Any blind guest."

_Ha! Made you say it_.

"Braille the mini bar price-lists?" suggests Auggie. "Nice to know how much money you're drinking away in your room at night."

Michael snorts. There's a (disapproving) silence from Jennifer. Oops. Not being serious enough here. There's apparently more than just the one third grade teacher in the family.

"Sorry," he says. "Kidding." He offers an apologetic smile - genuinely considering their question now. "Actually, a braille copy of yourinformation folder is something you could look into." He pauses. "Y'know, in all seriousness, you have two great assets here, and as long as you hang on to them, far as I'm concerned anyway, you're ninety-five percent of the way there."

"And those are?"

"Those are Michael and Jaco."

But next year you may only have Michael, he realizes soberly.

Their meeting done, Auggie stands, and begins folding open his cane.

"Can I give you a lift home on the quad bike?" Michael asks.

_Home_.

He shakes his head. Gives the guy a smile. "Hate to be the second one to turn you down today," he responds, "but I'd also really like to walk." And then he remembers. "Could do with a guide to the start of the footpath, though. You mind?"

"Not at all." Michael's right there with a fuss-free elbow for him.

The walk does him good. He needs the headspace just to get perspective again. He feels as though he's been pulled under some kind of a spell and he has to try and distance himself – from this place, from its people (especially Jaco Bouwer) and from her.

Because he has a job to do.

Annie, in all likelihood, is back at the suite with the info he's asked for.

And he has a Trojan Horse to build.

* * *

Auggie doesn't seem particularly perturbed that Annie hadn't gotten past the Windows 7 login screen on Jaco's machine. "Julie was working in the lab next door," she tells him. "I had to go quick - was worried she'd catch me red-handed."

"No biggie," he says. "We'll just have to work in real-time for a while instead of letting the trojan do all the work. I can work around the login, and then once we've got admin privileges we circumvent any firewalls we find. And then we're in. As soon as he links up with the Lodge's Wi-Fi he's fair game."

He's in his element, now. If she didn't know him as she does she'd wonder about the contradiction – the genuine warmth of the relationship he's beginning to build with Jaco and the cool, calculated relish with which he is planning the access, analysis and probably exploitation of the man's most private information. Sometimes it's easy to forget that under Auggie's good-natured, laid-back exterior lies a gifted, seasoned and ambitious spy.

It's the paradox that haunts both their lives.

When she first was sworn in at the CIA they'd asked if she would be able to keep her professional and private lives separate. She'd been naïve enough to say yes. And mean it.

She knows better now.

For people like her and Auggie – people who are passionate, who feel things – there are no separate lives. There is no compartmentalization; there are no clear lines. There's a foggy mixture of instinct and intelligence, gut feel and hard data, feeling and fact. And always, always there are choices that have to be made within that quagmire of uncertainty.

And because of the nature of the job they do – the work they both live for - the repercussions of those choices can be devastating.

She watches him from her vantage point on the deck – his fingers are tapping rhythmically over the keyboard, headphones are on. He's completely absorbed. She'd tried listening once to the feedback through his phones but it had been utter gibberish to her. He'd laughed at her and then turned the speed way, way down until she was able to make out something. "You learn to 'speed listen' over time," he'd told her in his matter-of-fact way, "just like you learn to skim read. If you have to."

He mesmerizes her.

She'd told him that once, a long time ago. He'd taken it in jest – thrown back some witty remark - but she hadn't meant it that way.

She remembers watching him like this in a safe house in Barcelona – him waxing lyrical about another hacker's code - her laughing at him. There had been pain that day, too. But such simple pain in retrospect. Unrequited love is so quiet in contrast to the tumult that is devastated love.

She forces herself to look away – to drink in the stark beauty of the space surrounding her; to allow it to scrub out her soul again; the way she's finding it can.

"Walker." He breaks into her reverie. She turns around. He is leaning back in his chair, stretching out his back, headphones around his neck - holding out a flash drive in her direction. His characteristic, satisfied, 'I'm so clever' grin of accomplishment draws a responding grin from her.

He is so clever.

She stands up and goes over to him. Takes the drive from his hand.

"Miles Davis?"

He laughs. "Maybe not quite that sophisticated," he replies, "but it'll do the trick."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 9**

* * *

AN: Some strong language.

* * *

_Monday June 23rd, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

His last-minute decision to join the others for the late afternoon game drive has taken Annie by surprise.

To be honest, it's kind of taken him by surprise, too. He'd totally been planning on avoiding this pointless (to him) daily activity for the duration of his stay - in favor of more productive things such as working on reducing his sleep deficit.

But his earlier conversation with Jennifer and Michael has shifted something. Before that, writing Owen Garrett's article had just been a necessary chore – something he was going to have to do in exchange for his chance to get out into the field again. He's feeling differently now: a little less flippant, a little more conscious. As if he somehow owes it to someone, somewhere, to at least try and engage in the experience he's being offered.

"Auggie Anderson on safari," Annie muses. "Who'd have thought?"

"That's the thing about us International Men of Mystery," he informs her, pulling on a fresh t-shirt. The morning's work and the heat (he doesn't want to imagine what it's like here in summer) have taken their toll on the other one. "We can blend in anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" She sounds skeptical. "Maybe you should have done some better pre-expedition shopping, then. That shirt's going to lose you major safari points."

He's dismissive. "I can just tell everyone I thought it was khaki."

* * *

Maybe it's exactly because his expectations are so low that he finds he's deriving an unexpected, quiet pleasure from being there.

For sure, listening to other people exclaim over the zebra or antelope or aardvark they're seeing is just about as enthralling as he'd imagined it would be.

But he's always enjoyed people-watching, and the people behind him on the vehicle make an interesting microcosm.

There's poor, henpecked Ernst, who is never allowed an opinion on anything unless Heike-the-Hen has vetted it first. There are the four kind, but smothery, British retirees, who have fully adopted the two young volunteer vets, and to a certain extent Annie. He thanks his lucky stars Holly decided to place him with Jaco's group. Their fussing and clucking would have driven him completely crazy within an hour. And he has no doubt they'd have found him an ideal candidate for their well-intentioned ministrations. (Annie has far more forbearance than he does.)

Then there's bubbly, funny Julie-the-Nurse - the includer of the group – who is still making sure that quiet and withdrawn Marijke is taken care of. Marijke's teenage daughter, Eva, is more outgoing than her mother, and hasn't struggled to fit in quite as much.

Except when it comes to him.

The minute he addresses anything in her direction she starts stammering and fading and throat-clearing. He'd initially wondered if it was the usual blind-guy-nervousness thing, but more and more his suspicion is that Laura Pritchard may not be the only one of their journalistic duo to have made a conquest. _Poor kid_.

In front of him Michael and James Webster – the third of the Otjindawa siblings, and the driver of the vehicle – are alternating between educating the group about what they're seeing (or not, in his case), and discussing between themselves (and with Jaco, seated next to him) the intricacies of bushveld and wildlife management. Being literally in the middle of that conversation, and in the line of fire of the tourist lectures, he is getting the full benefit of both types of wisdom. And being the incurable information junkie that he is, he's loving it.

"Shit!" James Webster has jammed on the brakes. He is the absolute antithesis of his sisters – an unpolished, irreverent, say-it-as-it-is man of the soil. There is absolutely no doubt in Auggie's mind that he wears khaki. All the time. "How in bloody hell did that stupid bugger get in there?"

Auggie leans forward, curious.

"Looks like the warthogs have been digging under the fence over there." That's Michael. "There's a pretty big hole. Maybe it got in there?"

"Stupid bugger." James reiterates his verdict. "And there's a ruddy cattle grid on each end. It's not going to be getting itself out of there again."

This additional information is not helping Auggie in the slightest.

Jaco, apparently picking up on Auggie's body language, takes pity on him and explains. "An impala ram has got itself trapped in the corridor ahead of us, Owen."

"Corridor?" Auggie's still not getting it.

Michael leans back over the passenger seat to elaborate for him. "There's a double-fenced corridor all the way round the smaller reserve (where the Lodge and BornFree are) that separates it from the main reserve - to keep the big cats and other dangerous animals out of the area where the people are. So you guys can go on hikes and so on, you know, without us having to worry too much about you getting eaten."

"We're going to have to get the bloody thing out." James is still grumbling.

"It should be fine to wait until tomorrow." Jaco offers his opinion. "There's enough browse he can get to through the fence."

"Too late to do anything about it now, anyway, I think," Michael contributes. "Sun's already on its way down."

"Ja, but I'm not here tomorrow," James is sounding stressed. "Local landowner's meeting." He's managed to get through a whole sentence and a half expletive-free.

"Jaco's here," Michael offers. "Maybe he can do it? We're doing two leopards and a lion in the morning, but maybe after lunch?"

"I'm happy to," comes the vet's reply. "I could even take him across into the small reserve for you. You were saying you wanted to get some new genetics into the population on that side."

"You know what?" James is sounding markedly less glum. "That's a bloody good idea. Let's do it."

* * *

Annie's been very quiet next to him for most of the drive. Not in a withdrawn, closed-off way, though, he senses. She just seems peaceful. Rested.

He's seeing a facet to her that he hasn't encountered before. Their context, both in private and professionally, has almost always been urban: Annie the career woman, the city girl – high heels and all; him the in-the-building guy. He's known she has a great-outdoors, nature-loving side, but has only ever experienced it remotely – rock-climbing expeditions he's had to pull her away from, hiking trips in Poland he's talked her through over satellite phones.

Now he's up close to it and he's entranced.

James has stopped the vehicle, cutting the engine. They've apparently come across a group of giraffe, browsing tranquilly in the gathering dusk. Initial exclamations of delight at the beauty of the sunset and the giraffe silhouettes have lapsed into a hushed quiet - the occasional click of a camera or murmured comment between people the only sounds from the vehicle. It's as if they've merged with the serenity outside.

He relaxes back against his seat, lulled by the gentle sounds of the bush - a scrub robin warbling nearby, the rustling and quiet chucking of spurfowl near the road, the distant clamor of guinea fowl. He smiles slightly to himself - Michael, Jaco and James's educational efforts, it seems, are reaping rewards. He has the beginnings of an African-bird-call-recognition repertoire already.

Next to him Annie takes in a deep breath and lets it out again – slowly, contentedly.

He turns towards her. "Sounded like a sigh," he says. "Like a happy, satisfied sigh." His words echo those of a long-distant conversation. He wonders if she'll catch the reference.

She sighs again. "It was." She is looking at him. He can tell. And she's smiling. He's not sure, but he thinks maybe she does remember.

And then, wondrously, she settles against him. And she leans her head against him. He lifts his arm and puts it across the back of the seat behind her. She nestles into his shoulder.

And it just feels so ordinary, so normal.

"For people like us there is no normal," she had said to him on the night they'd begun to break everything.

But right now, just in this moment, there is.

All he wants is to hold on to it.

* * *

The magic lasts on even after they've arrived back at the lodge. She holds his hand - their fingers tangling loosely - as they walk up the path from the parking lot, through the dining area and out of the side door. Not guiding him - he's using his cane - just holding his hand.

When they reach the gap in the stone wall - the gap that opens into the parking area from which the path to their house begins, Annie bursts into delighted laughter.

"Auggie. Stop," she says, tugging on his hand. He stops. She lets his hand go.

"What's going on?" he asks her.

"Just walk on ahead," she tells him. "Towards your eleven o'clock."

"Annie?"

"Go!" She gives him a little shove.

He crosses the open space, and then his cane encounters a low barrier. He traces along it. It's a row of low stones, increasing in size and then stopping at a thigh-level post set into the ground.

"Keep going left," Annie calls to him. He does, and encounters another post and then a line of stones decreasing in size.

She crosses over to join him. He shakes his head, grinning at her. "Michael?" he asks.

"My guess," says Annie.

"Laura Pritchard," he tells her, "your boy is a wonder."

The spell between them may have been broken, but the lightness in him hasn't dissipated.

* * *

Back at their room, they discuss their next move.

Annie had been hoping to sneak Auggie's masterpiece onto Jaco's laptop under guise of fetching a different lens at the clinic prior to their game drive, but the laptop hadn't been there.

"I think he's taken it back to his room," she says.

"So what do you wanna do? Wait till tomorrow? Or do we try and get in to his room tonight?"

She doesn't even pause to consider. "Do you think you could run interference for me? Shouldn't be too hard for me to break in. And I won't have to stay long."

"I can buy the guy a drink or two. Find something to talk about with him. But keep your phone on you, so I can text if you need to make a quick exit."

"OK." A pause. "Listen, could we bug the room, too? Did you bring anything?"

He is almost offended. Raises his eyebrows quizzically at her.

She saves herself. "Of course you did," she says. "What was I thinking?"

Before they leave for supper he has added a discrete listening device to the miniature arsenal in her purse.

By tacit agreement they do not discuss the game drive at all.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 10**

* * *

_A.N: Some strong language in this chapter._

* * *

_Monday 23rd June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

It's one thing to tell Annie he'll buy Jaco a few drinks and get him talking; it's another thing to actually do it.

One of the frustrating things about being blind is that it seriously hampers spontaneity. Meetings with people generally need to be engineered, arranged. It's not all that easy, when you can't see, to 'bump into someone' (in the metaphoric sense, obviously – literally it's all too easy) or casually walk in and join a conversation. And arrival on someone's arm tends to smack of deliberate planning.

Auggie had hoped Annie would be able to maneuver him to a seat near Jaco at dinner so he could start up a conversation which they could then continue over drinks later. But Annie informs him, as they arrive, that Jaco has already been appropriated by the British tourists and is completely surrounded – there's not going to be a way in for him.

_Damn_.

"Take me over to him?" he asks her.

"Sure." She guides him over. Stops. "Jaco?" she says.

"Yes?" He's turning towards them.

Annie gives Auggie's hand on her arm a light squeeze, and then detaches herself, giving him his space. Auggie takes over.

"Sorry to interrupt," he begins. "Can I bother you for a minute?"

"Yes, of course. No problem." He hears a chair beginning to scrape back.

"No need to get up," he stops Jaco hurriedly. "Listen, I was hoping we could make time to talk later? I wanna get a bit of your perspective on things for my article – the professional angle. If you wouldn't mind. Shouldn't take too long."

"I don't mind at all. After supper?" Good. This isn't going to be a problem after all.

"Yeah. Great. Thanks. Appreciate that." He smiles. Makes the offer: "I'll even buy you a drink."

"That sounds like a deal." Jaco's rare smile is there again in his voice. "Shall I come and find you?"

Auggie finds his own smile widening in response to Jaco's. He nods. "That'll be great. See you later, then." As he turns away he can hear Annie's footsteps as she comes back for him.

"Success?" she asks, linking arms with him.

"Success," he affirms. "And now food."

* * *

If there's anything Auggie is learning about Jaco Bouwer, it's how much the man loves his job. It comes through so very clearly in his answers to Auggie's (rapidly thought out during supper) questions.

They are the only two guests sitting outside in the area called the 'boma' - the sole beneficiaries of the open fire that has been built in the fire-pit for the evening. Possibly the cold of the night air has put everyone else off, but Auggie is loving the juxtaposition of chill at his back and heat in his face. Apart from their conversation, there's not much sound to mar the hiss and crackle of the flames and the ambient bush noise – crickets, nightjars and the occasional cry of a black-backed jackal.

Jaco had asked whether he'd prefer to stay indoors, but he'd opted for the boma - not only because of the appeal of the outside air, but also because it is further away from the Garden Rooms where Annie is going to be carrying out her work for the night.

Jaco is not an effusive man, in any sense of the word, but there is a quietly intense passion about him as he and Auggie talk about the work he does – the animals, the habitats that support them. Auggie is finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile the man he is speaking to with the man he has been sent here to turn; the fervent conservationist with the drug supplier of a poaching syndicate.

But Auggie also knows, because he's seen it so many times, has been there himself for that matter, how desperation can drive people to do extraordinary things. Devastating things.

They are interrupted by Annie, who had remained in the dining room chatting to one or two of the guests when Jaco and Auggie had come outside.

"You guys having fun?" she asks, touching Auggie lightly on the shoulder.

"Why?" he responds. "Feeling left out?"

"Very!" she retorts promptly. "But I'm an understanding woman, and I know how you guys need your man time…" She ruffles his hair.

"You're a wise woman," he tells her.

"Listen," she says, "I'm going to catch an early night. You OK to get back on your own?"

"Yeah. No problem." He blesses Michael again. Because of that marked path he's not going to have to rush things with Jaco. Instead of just delaying him for a short while for Annie's sake, he can take the opportunity to draw him out – see if he can unearth anything that might explain the man's actions.

She bends down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He reaches up for the hand she's rested on his shoulder, tangling his fingers in hers. She allows her hand to linger there just a little and then pulls away.

"Don't drink too much," she says. "I don't want to have to send Michael to pull you out of a thorn bush in the middle of the night." And then she turns.

Her footsteps recede.

_Good luck, Annie Walker_, he tells her in his head.

* * *

They move on from beer to Bells. (Auggie had suspected Jaco might be a Scotch whiskey man. He'd been right.) The conversation drifts away from Jaco's work and onto other topics – Africa versus America, Johannesburg versus New York (Owen's home town), city versus country. Auggie reminisces about childhood holidays on friends' farms. Jaco tells him about his own farm in Malelane – south of the Kruger National Park in South Africa.

"My wife loved it there," he says quietly.

"Loved?"

"She died two years ago."

"I'm sorry." Auggie knows his sincerity has been apparent in his voice. He doesn't need to add anything. Lets it linger.

They're silent for a while. Auggie leans back, cradling his glass in both hands. The fire cracks and Jaco stirs, gets up. There's a scrape as he pushes a new log onto the fire. He blows gently. Heat flares.

"You and Laura seem happy." Jaco breaks the silence. Settles back into his chair. He sounds…wistful.

Auggie doesn't know how to answer. The moment weighs heavy on him.

Then, for reasons he can't untangle, he answers as himself – not Owen Garrett. "We are. Have been." He sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated."

Jaco doesn't comment. In the space Auggie finds a little clarity – a way to steer the conversation away from the murky waters that are his own life, and back to Jaco's.

"Both of us lost someone before we got together. Unexpectedly. Violently. I wonder sometimes if that's made us afraid…" Auggie tails off.

"I can't imagine ever loving anyone else." Jaco says it so softly Auggie can barely hear him. His words carry a lot of pain.

"How did she die?" Auggie asks gently.

"She was shot. In our kitchen. While I was in the garage right on the other side of the wall. I couldn't do anything for her." His voice cracks. The wounds are still so fresh. "She was already gone when I got to her. All I could do was hold her."

Auggie is unable to respond for a long while. His own memories are too strong.

"I couldn't even hold my wife," he eventually says. It comes out strangled – he can hear the tears in his own voice. _Shit. Pull it together, Anderson._ He clears his throat. "There were still bullets flying everywhere. The cops held me back. Wouldn't let me go to her." It's not the whole truth, but it's close enough to conjure up clear images of that day in his mind. Images of Helen. His throat closes up again. He swallows.

"Your wife was shot too?" Jaco sounds stunned.

"Yeah. We got caught in the crossfire in a shoot-out between gunmen and police in Rome. Seven years ago. On vacation. Kinda thing you can't imagine actually happening."

"Sjô." The Afrikaans expression carries so much emotion – shock, empathy. Jaco breathes out audibly. "So you know what it's like."

"Yeah. I know."

"And now?" There's something in Jaco's voice. A longing. An appeal for hope.

"You move on," Auggie tells him. "You take it with you. But you move on."

* * *

Annie could probably have picked the lock with a paper clip, it's that sophisticated. With her lock-picks she's got it open literally in seconds. Closing the door quietly behind her, she checks that the shutters are closed and uses the flashlight on her cell phone to scan the room.

It's smaller than her and Auggie's room – just a double bed, a small wardrobe area, bathroom, and a counter on which are a tea-tray and kettle, and Jaco's unopened laptop bag.

That's her priority. She unzips the bag, gets the laptop out and open, plugs Auggie's flash drive into one of the USB ports. Then she turns the machine on.

Next she looks for a good place to hide the listening device. The range is not too bad, Auggie has told her, but she decides to try for a place near the door in case Jaco, like many people, wanders in and out of his room when on the phone.

Using the Swiss Army knife she keeps in her purse she unscrews the fingerplate of the light-switch at the door, attaches the bug on the inside of it, and then screws the plate back into place.

Then she starts systematically going through the room.

Jaco is neat and methodical. He unpacks thoroughly, obviously not the type to live out of his suitcase. She carefully checks through all the clothing on his shelves, through his laundry items. In his apparently empty suitcase she hits pay dirt – a manila folder tucked into a zipped pocket inside the lid of the case. It contains two photographs of a woman and man – one of them embracing each other, the other of them holding hands and laughing. She doesn't recognize the man. The woman, she thinks, might be Jaco Bouwer's late wife – Michelle.

The folder also contains what looks like a set of phone records for a cell phone - with one number repeatedly highlighted.

Rummaging through her purse for a second flashlight, she illuminates the contents of the folder, photographs each item with her phone, and then returns everything to its original place.

Auggie's trojan has uploaded itself and so Annie removes the flash drive, shuts down Jaco's computer, wipes it clean and replaces it exactly as she had found it into its bag on the counter.

She continues her search of the room.

She makes her second discovery in Jaco's nightstand.

Secreted in the locked (but also too-easy-to-get-open) drawer is a Walther P38 9mm Parabellum pistol.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 11**

* * *

_Monday 23rd June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

For the second time that day, Auggie Anderson finds himself grateful for the walk between the Lodge and their room.

He needs it. Again. To get his head straight. To try and mentally claw his way back towards the fine line which exists between identification with a target's emotions and emotional investment in the target. The one he suspects, deep down, he's just crossed.

It's a nebulous, shifting line – labile - so very easy to drift over. He and Annie know that intimately – they both have ample experience.

They also both know what drifting over it can cost.

Maybe that's why the CIA tells you, trains you, to stay well away from that line. Be a good spy. Separate your work from your personal life.

Auggie stopped buying into that a very long time ago.

Because instinct is the most valuable thing truly talented spies bring to the table. Not training, not good spy craft, not experience. As important as those things are, they're merely support tools. The crucial, pivotal moments in any mission often involve dealing with the questions that lie right on that ill-defined line – do I trust or not, do I lie or not, do I act or not, do I believe or not? They're emotional questions. Gut questions.

Annie's gut is what had given her the edge in bringing down Henry Wilcox. Others with more experience, training and access to intel had failed. She'd gotten to know the man, to recognize his twisted logic, his warped perspectives. He doesn't even want to think about the lines she'd crossed in order to do that. Intuition is no respecter of arbitrary boundaries.

His own gut is what had driven him to risk everything he had in order to prove Annie's innocence as she lay unconscious in a hospital bed, her lover in a morgue, layer upon layer of incriminating evidence forming against her. He'd known she was not a traitor. With every fiber of his being, he'd known. And he'd been right.

And now he's feeling the same way about Jaco Bouwer.

He needs to be very, very careful.

Because he's made mistakes before. He's well aware he is prone to believing the best about people, even when he shouldn't. Annie calls it positivity, romanticism. He has other words for it.

He'd thought he'd known Helen. His wife.

And she'd devastated him. Calculatingly. Knowing what it would do to him.

And yet when she'd come back, he'd allowed her to break through his guard again.

He wonders if he'll ever forgive himself for making that choice.

* * *

It's almost midnight when the door quietly and cautiously opens and Auggie slips in. She has to smile. She's reminded of her teenage self, sneaking in after curfew.

"You're grounded," she tells him. "Do you know how worried I've been? I was just about to start calling all the hospitals."

She's startled him. He whips around to face her. Then he relaxes. Breathes out. Gives her a wry grin. Folding his cane, he walks to the table and places it next to his laptop, which he opens and switches on. "You should cut me some slack, you know?" he informs her. "Keeping an eye on the time? We blind guys are at a disadvantage there."

"Har."

The joke had been half-hearted. She can tell his mind is elsewhere.

She sits cross-legged on her bed and watches him track the edge of the table with the backs of his fingers, seeking the chair tucked in a little further around. He pulls it out, turning it so that when he sits his back is to his computer and his face is towards her. He leans back, hands behind his head. Classic Auggie.

"So?" he asks.

"Simple in-and-out," she tells him. "Almost too easy. Gave me a chance to look around a bit, though."

"Nice," he approves. "Anything interesting?"

"Maybe." She tells him about the gun and the folder.

Like her, he seems unperturbed by the gun. Holly, Michael and James all wear handguns on their hips. It's a reasonable precaution when dealing with potentially lethal animals day in and day out. It seems likely Jaco would do the same.

When she describes the contents of the folder, though, he turns thoughtful. Pensive. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, mouth in a grim line. "What?" she asks him.

"He's really struggling to move on from his wife's death," he tells her. His voice is low. "I mean really struggling." He exhales slowly. A deep sigh.

"You think this might mean something?"

"I dunno." He shrugs. Hesitates. Sighs again. "You know the old 'love, money, patriotism' thing – how people can be turned. It works the other way too - something must've made him turn in the first place. And his feelings about her are strong. There might be something there."

He looks as though that bothers him.

And that bothers her.

* * *

Jaco logs in to his laptop in the early hours of the morning.

The bug Annie placed in his room has relayed nothing more than the general sounds of a person getting ready for bed. Auggie is just beginning to resign himself to the fact that they're probably going to have to wait until daylight when he hears the 'alert' sound on his laptop notifying him that they're in.

Annie has been making similar noises to those coming from Jaco's room – clinking of cups and kettles as she makes tea, rustling as she gathers clothes, brushing of teeth interrupted by the door of the bathroom closing; the door opening again; a muted creak as she sits on the edge of her bed.

The ping of Auggie's laptop and the screen reader's intonation: "Access granted: Jaco Bouwer, PC," though, brings her back up onto her feet and over to him instantly.

"'Jack-oh'," she says - obviously tickled - mimicking the screen-reader's mispronunciation of the name.

"We don't all speak twelve or fifteen or –how many is it anyway? – languages, you know," he says, feeling a little defensive.

"Ah. So not just your computer then?" Annie apparently has no trouble reading between lines.

"At least I say it right now," Auggie tells her, still feeling the need to defend himself. "I'm thinking Voice Over is beyond help, though."

She pulls up a chair and sits next to him as he works. He reaches for his headphones, concerned that the largely unintelligible (to her), relentless monologue emanating from his computer might drive her to distraction. But she stops his hand with hers. "It's fine, Auggie" she tells him.

It doesn't take long for him to penetrate the majority of the other machine's defenses and gain access to everything on Jaco's hard drive. He's already channeling all the data through to Langley. They have the capacity and time there to sift, sort, translate, deduce. And they will.

That doesn't prevent him and Annie scanning through it, though – just to get a feel for what's there. Much of Jaco's e-mail and many of the documents are written in Afrikaans – a language Annie isn't familiar with. (Nor is Voice Over, apparently. The degree of gobbledygook produced when they open any of these items is alarming. And entertaining.) Using her excellent Dutch, though, Annie is able to deduce the basic context of much of what they look at.

Even without Langley's help a picture slowly starts to emerge.

And then Jaco logs on to his banking website, unwittingly also giving them access to the last five years of his financial life.

The picture pulls into sharp focus.

"Love, money or patriotism", says Annie. "Guess we know which one, now."

"Yeah."

He should be feeling elated, but the taste in his mouth is not one of victory.

It's one of bitter disappointment.

* * *

Once again he lies awake listening to the sound of Annie sleeping next to him.

It's not her fault he's not sleeping this time, though. Not entirely, anyway. This time it's his own rebellious mind that's to blame.

He cannot shake the feeling that it's all just too simple.

He thinks back on their earlier call to Joan and Calder.

"He's in debt up to his eyeballs…Yeah…two loans…a mortgage…repayments…credit card bills…worst a year, six months ago…better now but still…we're looking at least million or so…no, rands, not dollars…"

Desperate times, desperate measures. The fact that Jaco's finances have recently begun to recover is a further indication that he's tapped into an additional source of income. They have answers to their "why would he?" and their "what now?" questions. If nothing else, Jaco Bouwer will likely be very vulnerable to financial incentives. The chances of turning him are looking better and better.

It's good enough for Annie. It's good enough for Joan and Calder.

Why isn't it good enough for him?

_Occam's razor_,_ Anderson. When you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras._

But he can't stop thinking zebras.

Africa must be getting to his brain.

* * *

At about 3 a.m. he gives up on trying to talk sense into himself. Reaches over to his nightstand for his phone and headphones.

Sends a text to Joan:

"Joan. Something not feeling right. See what you can dig up on the wife?"

The reply comes back promptly.

"Sure. No problem."

He feels a familiar surge of affection.

Joan may now be the boss of his boss, but she's still in his corner.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 12**

* * *

_Tuesday 24th June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Despite his (now significant) sleep deprivation, he wakes before Annie.

Padding quietly across the room he begins the delicate process of attempting to restore his blood caffeine, without waking her, to levels at which he might actually be functional.

He investigates the shelf above the coffee maker.

The first jar he finds and opens reveals itself to be Annie's infamous bird food. He is momentarily tempted to repay her for his rude awakening the day before, but the temptation is fleeting - mostly because he's in no state yet to be able to tolerate cacophony of any description.

He hits the jackpot with the second jar.

While the coffee brews he takes a quick shower. Pulls on jeans, t-shirt. Towels his hair some more. Adds a hoodie to the ensemble.

There is no evidence that Annie has yet stirred when he emerges. He doesn't disturb her. She can afford at least another half-hour of sleep before she'll need to be up, and he'd prefer to give it to her. Some solitude spent enveloped in (non-bird-food-induced) early morning African-bush ambience is immensely appealing.

He's not sure if it's the pristine crispness of the morning - the air filled with the easy sounds of birds and animals going about their early morning business, or his to-and-fro text session with Joan in the crazy hours, but he discovers, out there on the deck, that he has found some sort of inner equanimity.

He still has no answers to the paradox he's been presented with in Jaco Bouwer, but he's somehow found the capacity to be able to hold the tension for now – the disappointment and the liking together in the same hand; a hope that his instincts and objectivity will eventually find a meeting place.

Annie shuffles outside shortly after he hears the alarm on her phone go off.

"There's coffee," he informs her.

"Yeah, thanks. I found it." She still sounds a little groggy. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour." He doesn't feel she needs to know about the hours before three a.m.

"Anything come in overnight?"

"Dunno. Thought you might like to be around when I checked, so I waited."

"Thanks." She has that smile in her voice. The one that tells him he's touched her. He feels a subtle swell of contentment. "Wanna take a look now or can I shower first."

"Go shower, Walker."

* * *

When she emerges she refills their coffee mugs and pulls up a chair next to him. Her arm brushes his as she leans forward. His equilibrium tilts. He may have found stability as far as Jaco is concerned, but apparently that doesn't hold true when it comes to Annie Walker. He takes a deep breath. Subtly releases it.

Not unexpectedly they find very little. There's nothing on the audio recordings inconsistent with a man sleeping, waking and getting ready for the day. The only activity on his computer is another login to his banking website at 06h13. There has been no banking activity overnight.

At 07h08, though, Jaco makes a call. He doesn't address the caller by name.

He begins the call with characteristic well-mannered politeness.

Within seconds, though, he is patently agitated.

_Good Morning. It's Jaco Bouwer here…_

_My money is still not in my account. So where is it?_

A strangled noise of frustration.

_I just checked. It's not in…_

_No, that's rubbish_. The last word is said with unusual emphasis.

_Ja, but you promised me yesterday. And the week before. And the week before that. I'm sick to death of your promises…_

_Uh-uh. No. No. You listen to me now. Listen clearly. I am up to here with this now. The money is in my account by midday today or I'm finished with you people. Finished. I'll find some other sharks. It's not like that'll be difficult. You can explain that to your boss…_

There are no polite goodbyes. The call appears to have ended very abruptly. Followed by an expletive. And the sound of something smashing. Auggie hopes it's not Jaco's phone that paid the ultimate price.

"Wow." says Annie next to him.

"Yeah," he replies. "Wow."

* * *

On the morning's schedule are health checks on two of BornFree's leopards. As well as a lion.

The leopards are, they are told, done very much in the same way as the cheetahs – knocked out in the field and brought into the clinic.

"Would you be willing to help me out with the lifting and so on again today, Owen?"Jaco is again measured and polite – pleasant but distant. Controlled.

It's as if the night before had happened in some kind of alternate universe.

As jarring as the reversion is, Auggie gets it. He's pretty sure that if he were able to make eye contact with Jaco, the man's eyes would be tending to slide away. Awkwardly. It's hard to know what to do after a conversation like they'd had the evening before, to know how to act around a person to whom you've unguardedly laid part of yourself bare.

If Auggie feels anything it's relief. The combination of social script and activity are going to be far less threatening to his hard-won detachment.

"Sure." Auggie respond to Jaco's request. Produces a smile. "Same procedure as yesterday?"

"Exactly the same as with the cheetahs." They are standing with the rest of the group and Jaco has raised his voice a little, presumably directing his words to the others as well. "We'll bring them into the clinic and do all the same checks and sampling. There's less risk of overheating with leopards but we'll still monitor temperature in the same way."

It is the same. Except for the cats.

Auggie has never really considered himself a cat person. Working with the cheetahs the day before had been fun, but that was far more to do with the uniqueness of the experience than the animals themselves.

This is different.

Their leopard's name is Pina. For a brief moment Auggie feels let down when he hears her name – it actually sounds African to him – a definite departure from Holly's usual style. He recovers, though, when he hears the name of the leopard Annie's team is working on. Pina's brother. Colada. Auggie's faith in Holly is completely restored.

To have his hands on her - to feel the incredible sleekness of the coat, but the delicate thinness of her skin; the expected size and power of the musculature under his hands (he remembers seeing a photo once of a leopard with its zebra kill in a tree), but her surprisingly small frame (she's smaller in stature than the cheetahs from yesterday) - becomes almost a spiritual experience for him. Jaco's descriptions of her and her kind add to the reverence he is feeling: their elusiveness, their stealth, their nocturnal nature. How very dangerous they can be, but how often they are underestimated. Their solitary nature, but their fierce protection of their vulnerable cubs. Their unrivaled agility juxtaposed with their huge capacity for indolence. Their beauty. Their cunning.

They are a magnificent study in contradiction, in paradox. He is bewitched by the enigma.

He doesn't fight the magic.

* * *

They don't bring Kipling, the lion, into the clinic. His sheer size means that it's easier if the vets check him in situ in his camp once Jaco has knocked him down. The nature of the task means that the vets do the majority of the work. The volunteers stand back and observe for the most part and then are allowed an opportunity to get up close to the impressive animal.

The terrain is rough - tussocks of grass, anthills, warthog holes. Auggie stands aside, Annie notices, unobtrusive, observing in his own way but not making any move to come forward.

She has realized that before this trip she's never really seen him alone in unfamiliar territory. Ha has DC comprehensively mapped, or so it seems to her anyway. When they've been away from DC he's either been next to her, with her, or, when he's been on his own, she's been elsewhere.

Not watching him.

It's odd for her to see him deliberately place himself in the background. Quiet. Out of the way. She's known, cognitively, that this must inevitably be part of his reality sometimes. But she's never actually observed it.

She feels uncomfortable. Like a voyeur. She almost looks away. But she doesn't.

Jaco goes over to him. She watches them. Jaco speaking characteristically earnestly. Auggie bending his head a little – giving the shorter man his full attention. And then Auggie takes Jaco's offered arm and the two make their way over to the sleeping lion.

It soon becomes apparent that Jaco has, once again, requested Auggie's muscular assistance. A scale has been set up nearby. A stretcher is brought and placed against the lion's spine. Auggie folds up his cane and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans. He squats onto his haunches next to Jaco as the vet demonstrates to him what he needs to do, and then on a three-count the men (Michael has joined them) roll the lion over onto the stretcher. Then they each take a corner, Ernst-the-German taking up the fourth, apparently having been given permission by Heike to risk his back this time.

"Laura!" She takes a few moments to realize Auggie is calling her over his shoulder. Someone must have told him where she was. Michael sees her looking. Waves her over. She canters up.

"Hey," she says. "You need me?"

"Can you grab the middle between me and Ernst?" Auggie asks her. "Give us some extra lift, and maybe warn me if I'm about to fall into a warthog hole?"

"Sure."

They lift. Get the lion onto the scale without incident. "A hundred and eighty two kilos." Julie-the-nurse.

Jaco comes around. "We're all done," he says. "Thank you, Owen. Laura."

"No problem." Auggie is smiling at the man. A genuine smile. The reserve she'd detected (with some relief) in him, towards the vet, this morning – the distance he'd seemed to be placing between himself and Jaco earlier in the day - seems to have vanished completely. "Listen, do you reckon this guy's going to sleep long enough for me to get a guided tour?"

"I think we can risk it," says Jaco, returning Auggie's smile. "Here." He steers Auggie in the right direction. "But you'll notice I'm making sure you're closest to his sharp end, just in case." The man has made a joke. She wouldn't have thought it possible. They bend together over the lion. Auggie has crouched down. Jaco places Auggie's hand on the cat's massive paw.

The folded cane is apparently getting in Auggie's way. He pulls it out of his waistband and holds it out to Jaco. "D'you mind hanging onto this for me?" Jaco takes it.

Annie steps back. Unneeded. Superfluous.

She watches for a while as Auggie uncovers for himself Kipling's impressive contours, all the while listening intently to Jaco who is, in his now familiar way, meticulously talking Auggie through his exploration.

She eventually has to look away. Auggie is on his haunches behind the lion's shoulders, face turned up towards Jaco, fully focused on what the vet is saying to him. His right hand is idly fingering the lion's mane.

A memory arises, unbidden. She and Auggie sitting together in his Corvette. The ficus plant she's brought him. Him fingering its leaves in exactly the same way.

A time before she consciously knew she loved him.

Her gut is tight. She can feel the anxiety that has constantly plagued her in the aftermath of Hong Kong, of Henry Wilcox, rising in her chest. She breathes. Focuses her thoughts. As she has had to learn to do. It subsides, but not entirely.

Auggie is too close to this man.

That makes her scared for him.

She denies the whisper of jealousy that accompanies the fear.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 13**

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_1) This chapter contains some strong language._

_2) A massive thank you to Mireille, who was so willing to help me figure out what someone who spoke Dutch would be able to understand when listening to spoken Afrikaans. Yes, recording of scenario enactments did happen :)_

* * *

_Tuesday 24th June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

The volunteer group is taken by Michael to visit a neighboring facility - a vulture rescue center - after lunch

Auggie begs off, desperately in need of a siesta.

He has just settled himself – deliciously horizontal on the heavenly bed when the room phone rings. He sighs. Deeply. Gets up. Finds it. Answers it.

It's Jaco.

"Owen. How would you feel about helping me to move that impala?"

* * *

Jaco collects him at the room. The clanking and rattling accompanying the usual sound of the vehicle indicates they are towing a trailer of some sort. Jaco confirms it. It's a covered game trailer – like a wide horse box but with tarpaulin top and sides and a ramp that lifts up to form a tailgate which seals the back off completely. They will dart the impala, reverse the trailer into the corridor, carry the animal in, administer an antidote to the tranquilizer and then drive across to the small reserve where they will release him onto the plain - the area his and Annie's room overlooks.

They bump over a cattle grid and stop. Get out. The afternoon is warm and still. Only the sound of cicadas fills the space. Jaco is standing at the hood of the vehicle.

"Can you come around, Owen?" he requests. "I need you for back-up here."

Auggie tracks his way around. "What do you need me to do?"

"For antelope we use a different drug to those we use in the cats." There's the ripping sound of packaging opening. "It's called M99, and it's lethal to us humans. We have to be very, very careful with it. Even a drop in the eye can cause fatality. It causes respiratory arrest – you just stop breathing. So without mouth-to-mouth you're dead within five minutes."

"Wow." Auggie is taken aback. No wonder the drug is so strictly controlled. "But the antelope are fine?"

"Yes. It's the drug of choice for elephants and rhinos too. Very quick, effective and safe knock down."

"Surely accidents happen, though?"

"They do. That's why before we work with it we always draw up antidote in a syringe, ready to administer in case of emergency." He pauses. "I was working with another vet doing a game capture about five years ago and the dart she was loading exploded. Within a minute she had collapsed and started going cyanotic. It was unbelievable. I'd heard about it but seeing it was…" Another pause. "We couldn't give her mouth-to-mouth because there was M99 all over her face. If we hadn't had that antidote ready…" He trails off.

"She survived?"

"Yes. It was very intense though. We're lucky it only sprayed onto her. If we'd had two people down we could have lost one of them. We only had one dose drawn up. Since then I keep a loaded syringe and extra antidote in the cubby-hole (I think you call it the glove compartment?) of my vehicle, as an extra precaution. And I make sure I stay away from anyone else when I'm loading the darts."

Auggie has realized why Jaco has called him around. "You want me to administer this antidote to you if something happens?" He's not sure how he feels about that. Amazed, probably. "Jaco, you do realize you're placing your life into the hands of a blind man?"

Jaco laughs. "Owen, if you'd seen some of the people I've had to trust on this…Believe me, an intelligent blind man is much less of a risk. Now. Here's the syringe…" He takes Auggie's hand and places it in his palm. "If something happens find my triceps, thigh or backside, uncap the needle, stick it in perpendicular to the skin, all the way, and push that plunger in. Through my clothes. Don't waste time trying to expose the area."

Auggie traces the syringe. Finds the capped needle. The plunger. Orients it in his hand. "Got it." He sincerely hopes he's not going to have to do anything with it.

"Good. I'm going to load the dart now. I'll stay here. Would you mind moving back around to the side of the vehicle?"

Auggie moves. Waits. It's not long before Jaco calls him. "I'm all done. You can come back around now. Let's go dart this boy."

A walk to within range with Jaco…the pop of the gun…Jaco telling him the impala is down…back to the vehicle…reversing the trailer into the corridor…returning to the impala – which is not lying on its side as he'd expected but rather head up, legs tucked underneath his body…sleek coat, slightly curved horns…Jaco giving instructions as to how to carry the antelope…awkward trip to the trailer – the guy's significantly heavier than the cats, not as relaxed and his bulky back end makes it harder to get a decent grip on him…up the ramp and into the trailer…settled onto the straw bedding.

"Here." Jaco is beside him. Picks up Auggie's right hand and again places a syringe into it. "Why don't you give him the antidote? It'll be good practice for if you ever do have to save my life."

Auggie grins. "Rather an impala than you." He holds out his left hand. "Wanna give me directions?"

_Hind leg…feel for the large muscle at the top…uncap the needle…hold syringe perpendicular (hopefully)…plunge needle in…inject…pull needle out…replace needle cap…carefully…ouch…not carefully enough._

"I'll take that." Auggie hands over the syringe. Jaco takes it. He hasn't even said 'Good job'. He seems to have taken it for granted Auggie would have no trouble.

Auggie realizes suddenly that at some point during the day he has drifted back over the blurred line.

Way, way over.

He's working purely on instinct now.

* * *

Annie arrives to an empty room and four bombshells.

The first three are delivered via a phone call from Joan which she receives literally a minute after stepping through the door.

"Hi Annie…glad I caught you…I've been trying to reach Auggie but he's not answering his cell…Listen. I'm assuming you've seen that Jaco Bouwer received two hundred fifty thousand rands into his bank account three hours ago…" Bombshell One.

Auggie may have. Annie wouldn't know. She hasn't. "Do we know who from?"

"Some legal firm. We've got Joburg checking whether they're legit or not."

"You think it could be payment for services rendered?"

"Could well be. The timing's certainly…interesting."

Joan moves on. "While we're on the topic of Joburg: Auggie asked me last night to do some looking into the wife…"

He had? That's the first Annie's heard of it.

"...so I got Joburg to look into that too. That source of theirs has already gotten hold of the police file on the murder for us. She's a quick worker. There was something interesting there. They recently re-opened the case. About three months ago."

"Why?"

"The only significant findings at the crime scene were three fingerprints – probably from the same person. They couldn't find a match in any of their data-bases, though. Then three months ago a Mozambican national was killed in a shoot-out between poachers and rangers in the Kruger Park. The result of an anonymous tip-off. His prints matched those found in Jaco Bouwer's house."

"Wow."

"Wow, indeed. There's something else though. The poachers were interrupted in the middle of a poaching attempt. They hadn't taken the horn, but there was a rhino already down. Down but alive. It had been tranquilized with M99." Bombshell Two.

"Shit." It comes out involuntarily. Annie wonders if she should apologize.

The DCS solves the dilemma for her. "Yes. Exactly."

"You're thinking Jaco found out who he was somehow? Sent that tip-off? A revenge killing?"

"It's a possibility. There was a copy of the original police report in the data Auggie sent us off Bouwer's laptop."

"Joan," Annie's been hesitating over whether or not to mention her concern to Joan. She makes a split-second decision to do so. "Auggie's getting very close to him. Maybe too close."

"Emotionally, you mean?"

"Maybe. He really likes the guy. I think he's developed some kind of a deep empathy with him over the wife…"

"I guess that's understandable," Joan muses. "I hadn't thought of that." She stops. Annie waits. "Will you keep an eye on him for me, Annie? Keep me updated? I trust Auggie's instincts, but I'm worried that this, specifically, might make him a little vulnerable."

Annie doesn't need to have the reasons spelled out for her. To have your wife shot dead in right in front of your eyes; to discover she'd faked that death, knowingly let you suffer through all that grief; to have her return, have all those feelings resurrected, and then have to go through her being killed – really killed – all over again - that has to leave scars. Even seven months down the line. "I will, Joan."

"Oh. And Annie, one more thing. We went through Jaco Bouwer's Google search history. He's looked into both Laura Pritchard and Owen Garrett. We checked the sites he looked at. All of them were fine – Cover Ops had altered the photos and so on, so you should be all right. But just be careful, OK?" Bombshell Three.

Why would Jaco do that?

_Shit, Auggie. Did you say something to him?_

_And where the hell are you?_

She finds her anxiety levels rising again. Concentrates on her breathing. Focuses. As she's had to learn to do.

She puts the kettle on to make a cup of tea. While she waits for the water to boil she skims through the audio from the morning. She's not expecting to find anything.

But she finds the fourth bombshell.

It's a phone call made by Jaco Bouwer immediately after lunch. In Afrikaans. But her knowledge of Dutch allows her to grasp enough of it to get the gist of Jaco's side of the conversation.

_"Ja. Ek het die geld oornag gekry. Ons kan maar voortgaan."_

Yes. I got the money. We can continue.

_"Reg. Ek reël dat julle die nodige items so gou moontlik kry"_

I…you…get the…?...as soon as possible.

_"Reg so."_

Right.

_"Ja, maar luister. Onthou ek het vir jou gesê daar's iemand wat in die pad staan. Ek gaan daardie situasie vroeër eerder as later moet hanteer._

Yes but remember I said there's someone…in the road(?)...the way(?)...I think we should handle this situation sooner rather than later.

_"Ons het 'n goeie verhouding. Goed genoeg dat hy my vertrou. Hy vermoed niks nie."_

We have a good relationship. Enough that he trusts me. He doesn't suspect…

_"So gou al?"_

That soon?

_"Reg so. Ek dink ek sal miskien vandag 'n geleentheid kry. Sal sien wat ek kan doen."_

…I think I might get…today…Will see what I can do…

Anxiety spirals upwards. Morphs into panic.

She doesn't breathe. She runs.

She has enough cognizance to slow when she reaches the main complex. Even so, when she finds Michael she is breathless.

"Hey Michael. Listen do you know where…" She catches herself just before she says Auggie. "…Owen is?"

"Yes. Sure. He went out with Jaco to help him move that impala for James." Michael looks at her, concerned. "Everything OK?"

"Yes. No. He has our room keys."

She's walking out as she says it. Gone before Michael even has a chance to offer to open the room for her using the master.

She sprints to the parking lot. Michael's quad bike is there, keys in the ignition. She's started the engine even before she's properly seated.

_Go, go, go_!

She frantically urges the bike along, hoping she's remembered the way to the corridor accurately. Landmarks are hard to come by in the Namibian bush.

_Please be OK, Auggie. Please be OK_. She says it over and over again. She can think nothing else.

It feels like a desperate prayer.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 14**

* * *

_A.N: Once again I'm giving you a strong language warning. Significantly strong ;)_

* * *

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

She sees the vehicle and trailer parked in the corridor. Slams the bike to a halt. Jumps off and starts running.

"Auggie!" She is almost screaming. Her heart is pounding.

Frantic, she opens her mouth to call out again.

His name dies on her lips.

Auggie and Jaco are emerging from the back of the trailer - Jaco looking startled, Auggie looking…she's not sure, but she can tell he's not pleased.

"Laura?" Auggie is calm. Icy even. She realizes that what she is seeing on his face is anger. Stone cold anger.

Relief is quickly being overtaken by embarrassment. Awareness that she's messed up. She has to undo this. "You took the room key," she tells him. She plays Laura Pritchard for all she's worth. Fakes agitation.

Auggie exaggerates a sigh. "Oh," he says.

Annie takes a deep breath. Blows it out audibly - making a show of attempting to calm herself. She smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. Over-reacted. Was seriously pissed at you."

Jaco says nothing, just raises his eyebrows.

"Don't suppose you thought to ask Michael to let you in. What d'you do? Steal his quad bike?" His irritation is evident. She suspects it's more Auggie Anderson's displeasure that's showing than Owen Garrett's

"Borrowed," says Annie, feigning indignation. She's playing the role she's assumed to the hilt.

"Well, seeing as you came all the way here, you may as well go dig in my bag. Front seat. Key's probably there." His tone is one of annoyance. He's making his way towards the passenger door himself, the back of his hand lightly skimming the left hand side of the trailer, the vehicle.

She opens the door, makes a show of rummaging in his bag, finds something of appropriate size and pulls it out, gripping it in her palm to conceal it. It's a Swiss army knife. "Got it," she says, happily waving her clenched fist for Jaco's benefit.

"Good. Now go home." Auggie has reached her. Pats her on the shoulder. Leans over, pretending to kiss her on the cheek. Instead whispers through clenched teeth into her ear: "What the hell, Annie?"

She turns, mimes kissing him back. Murmurs: "Not here, OK? Later."

She turns back around. Waves airily at Jaco. "Bye," she says.

She goes.

* * *

Perhaps it is because he is still fuming about Annie's behavior that Auggie decides not to return to the room after he and Jaco have offloaded the impala. Instead he has a couple of beers with the vet at the bar. They only have forty or so minutes till dinner anyway. And he has to try and undo the damage Annie has done.

The simmering rage, though, persists - seems to affect his thinking, because he ends up sitting with the British contingent at dinner, having failed to plot his way out of it. By the time Michael offers him and Annie a lift back to the room an evening of "You're such an inspiration", "It's wonderful how well you cope" and "Laura must be a very special person" has him teetering on the brink of an eruption.

He and Annie say nothing to each other on the drive over with Michael. Instead Annie fills the space with inane Laura Pritchard small-talk. He should be grateful to her, but it just sets his teeth even more on edge.

When Michael stops the vehicle he is barely able to grind out a civil "Thanks, Michael" before he attacks the ramp.

Once through the door he closes it behind him, snaps his cane down into its folded form and thumps it onto the table next his computer. Bending over he tries to calm himself, supporting himself with his hands, palms down, on either side of the laptop.

The door opens behind him. Closes again.

He isn't calm. He is quietly furious.

"What the hell that, Annie?"

She doesn't even ask what he's talking about.

"I thought you were in danger, Auggie. I panicked."

She is still at the door.

He stands up. Turns around. Faces her accusingly. "You nearly blew our cover, dammit." His voice is rising. "I had to invent some bullshit story about a nickname. About us having a fight after lunch and you still being mad at me."

"I'm sorry, Auggie." She's distressed. Also a little defensive. "Joan called me. Said Jaco'd gotten a big deposit into his account. Said that the cops had traced his wife's murderer. That it was a poacher who got killed in a shootout with park rangers. M99 was involved. She said Jaco'd been looking into us online."

He's unimpressed. "I knew about the money. So what? It could have come from anywhere. We don't know yet."

"So?" Now she's properly defensive. "You didn't know about the other things, Auggie. It looked bad. And then there was a phone call on the recordings. By Jaco. In Afrikaans. I couldn't get it all, but I thought he said there was someone in the way. That he was going to have to do something about it. Today."

"You thought?" He's taunting her. "And you put all this together and came up with what? That I was in danger of being killed? By Jaco? Out here?" Incredulous.

"Yes, Auggie. I thought there was a risk." She's sounding angry now.

"Oh, for Chrissakes, Annie. This guy's a not murderer. I seriously doubt he's even a poacher." He puts a hand on the back of his neck. "He's not the type. I swear it. Goes against everything he is. Something else is going on here. I know it."

"You know it," she mimics. She's coming back at him. Resentful. Aggravated. "Like you knew Red Rover was an innocent girl caught up in a bad situation?"

"You're seriously bringing up Barcelona now?" That riles him. "That was a completely different situation. I didn't know her. I know Jaco." He flings his hands up in emphasis. His left hand connects hard with the corner of the shelf.

"_Shit!_"

He loses it.

"No. You know what this is, Annie?" He's yelling. Doesn't care. "This is you thinking I need rescuing. It is Barcelona all over again, isn't it? You think I don't know what I'm doing. That I'm not capable of looking after myself. That I'm some kind of pathetic…" He doesn't finish. A small part of him is standing apart watching himself. Seeing the ugly self-pity.

He's too far gone, though, to claw his way back.

She is very angry now. Hot tears in her voice. "That's crap, Auggie. You know it is." Her voice cracks. "It's about you throwing yourself in head first after your gut. It's about you trusting people despite evidence. It's about you putting yourself at risk. About not thinking what people who care about you might feel about that. "

"My God, Annie," He's absolutely incensed. "You're going to talk to me about that? You who dived in after Henry Wilcox? No back up. No communication. No way for me to even know you were alive. You knew what I felt about you…" His voice fails him.

"It isn't the same, Auggie." She sounds broken.

He doesn't care. The bitterness has him fully in its grip now. "Isn't the same, why? Because you're not blind?"

"No!" To her credit she sounds really pissed off at him now. "Because I wasn't basing everything on gut feel. I had evidence."

"Oh, come on, Annie. You know as well as I do that you'd have done it anyway. You work on instinct. Just as much as I do."

"Yeah. But…" She trails off.

"Yeah, but what? What's the big difference, Annie? "

She doesn't answer.

He persists. "Come on, Annie. What?"

She's hesitant. Clears her throat. Moves. A creak of the bed as she sits down on it. "Helen, Auggie." Her voice is low. "That's the difference. You trusted her, didn't you? Went with your instincts. Head first. And look what she did to you." She draws in a ragged breath. "And then, even after you knew what she was capable of, you still…" She falters. Doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.

She has him. He has no defense. The shame of that night, his lack of self-restraint, his betrayal of Annie, will allow no seeking of absolution.

He stands there. Exposed. Anger gone. Replaced by something else. Tears threaten. He pushes them down, humiliated by them. Swallows.

There's silence.

He's the one to break it.

"I never wanted you to know." He says it softly, not sure what it is. Not an apology. Not an excuse. Maybe, at last, a confession. "I didn't know she'd left the apartment in that state until I went over to the bed…" His voice has betrayed his emotion despite his earnest efforts to stop it.

"I'd guessed anyway, Auggie. Before that." She sounds resigned. Breathes out a deep sigh. "I saw you with her that night. I was on the bus with you."

The shock hits him in the gut. His world tilts on its axis.

"You were on the bus?" His throat has closed up. He has to swallow again so he can speak. "Shit, Annie. Why didn't you say something?" It comes out strangled. Tears have welled up again. He's having difficulty dealing with implications of what she's saying. He shakes his head, furious with himself for his lack of ability to keep his emotions under control.

"I didn't know how to." She sounds distraught. "I was sitting right next to you. I thought you'd know it was me." There are tears in her voice too. "But you didn't. And then it had been too long…I just…couldn't."

"So you just sat there watching me?" Suddenly he is seething. "Jesus, Annie." He puts both hands up on his head. Tugs at his hair in exasperation. "How the fuck was I supposed to know you were there? I can't _see_." He's almost shouting now.

"You've done it before," she says. She's pleading. "You do it all the time."

"Yeah, when I'm expecting you to be around. When we're at Langley. Not on some bus in DC when you're not even supposed to be in the country. I don't have fucking superpowers."

Suddenly he's had enough. Can't do this anymore. Needs to get out.

He turns his back on her, grabbing for his cane. In his haste knocks it to the floor. It's the final indignity. Knowing she's watching him having to feel around on the floor for it. He finds it. Doesn't even attempt to unfold the thing. Just makes for the exit - rips the door open.

"Auggie." She's begging.

He leaves. Crashes the door closed behind him.

He slams his fist into the wall next to him - ten months of pent-up frustration crammed into one blow. Maybe even more. Maybe seven years.

And then he's done. He has nothing left.

He sags back against the door. Closes his eyes.

He is so very, very tired.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 15**

* * *

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

He needs space.

Needs to get away.

From her.

From here.

Needs to figure out some way of scraping himself back together, getting his head straightened out.

What he really needs is somewhere isolated, far away from everything. Somewhere he can sit down, feel. And then think.

But he can't. If there are any such places he doesn't know about them. No one has told him. And he has no other way of knowing. No way to even start thinking about how to search one out. The self-pity creeps up his throat again. He forces it down. Has to pinch hard between his eyes to stop the tears. Again.

_For shit's sake. Pull it together_, Anderson.

Frustrated with himself, with the whole sickening situation, he snaps out his cane. He may not be able to find somewhere to sit, but he can try and walk this off.

* * *

His feet take him, almost automatically, to the now-familiar foot path. He feels like his mind is shutting itself off. Whether it's some sort of subconscious self-preservation instinct or merely emotional exhaustion he can't tell. He doesn't care. All he knows is that the rhythm of his footsteps and the swings of his cane are having a much needed hypnotic effect

Right now the respite from the turmoil is welcome.

He reaches the path's end – where it opens out into the parking lot. His cane connects with one of Michael's posts.

His brain re-engages.

The swimming pool enclosure. If this is the parking area for the pool there must be a gate for it here. And the chances of anyone being there on a winter's night are slim.

He may just be able to find somewhere he can sit undisturbed after all.

Where he can breathe.

Try to recover.

He walks. Finds his stone wall. Tracks it right instead of left. Discovers it butts up against some sort of fence made up of what feels like driftwood - polished tree branches, maybe? Smooth, not rough. The fence around the swimming pool area. (Or so he hopes).

He finds a gate. Latched but not locked.

Enters.

Stops.

Listens.

There's nothing but the peaceful ripples of night noise and every now and then a swell of laughter from the main complex. From those who, unlike him and Annie, had lingered after their meal.

He debates with himself a little, but does, in the end, call out a tentative "Hello." Lack of any response causes his gut to unclench a little.

He's found his safe place.

His feet are on a paved path. He follows it for a way. There's grass on the right. He takes a chance – turns onto the grass, surmising it lies between path and pool. Goes carefully.

The last thing he freaking needs now is an unplanned swim.

He doesn't find the pool. He connects, instead, with something else. It reveals itself, under his hands, to be a sun lounger. Wood, with some kind of padded canvas-covered cushion on it. He tracks the side of it and then sits down on its edge, cane propped up next to him.

Bending over – elbows on his knees, head down, hands locked together on the back of his head, he breathes, waiting for the expected emotions to rise. Ready to let them come.

They don't.

Some kind of peace flows over him instead – slowly loosens the tension in his belly. After a while he turns, folds up his cane and then stretches himself out along the length of the recliner, cane next to him, arms behind his head, face up to the stars.

Beads of thought finally start to run together, to form coherent patterns. He waits. Knowing he needs this. Needs to work through whatever it is that went on in there. Between him and Annie.

He has a job to do. And he needs to get himself straightened out so that he can do it.

His turns over their argument in his mind. His fury at her that she'd come for him. Her anger that he'd put himself at risk. His anger that she didn't trust his instincts. Her reason why.

His inability to explain that reason, even to himself.

And finally, that blow. The discovery that Annie had used his blindness to take advantage of him. The deep disillusionment. The sense of betrayal.

_Why did you react so strongly to that?_

The question bubbles up from some deep subconscious place.

_\- Because it was unfair. I wanted to see her, talk to her. It was all I wanted. And she wouldn't allow it. But she came and sat there and watched me. Knowing I couldn't._

People do that all the time. You know that. You generally laugh it off.

_\- This is different._

Why?

_\- Because it's Annie._

And suddenly there it is. Because it's Annie.

Because Annie has always been the one person he could trust to get it right. To believe in him. To include him.

She had, from her very first mission, pushed the boundaries when it came to him. Not his boundaries, but the boundaries imposed by people's expectations. People who saw him as a talented Tech Op, but not fit for field work anymore. The guy always behind the desk, on the other end of the phone, always support – even when not in the building.

Annie had dragged him out into the field with her, still unsure of her abilities, completely confident in his. She'd gotten herself in trouble for it more than once, because she needed him. Wanted him. As a partner.

And she'd changed the way he was looked at in the building.

She'd undone the universal notion that field work for him was completely unfeasible. That he naturally must have lost his skills, his instincts together with his sight.

Shown that was wrong.

Shown that even though it wasn't going to work in the same way as it had, that didn't mean it couldn't work.

Shown that he, Auggie Anderson, blind, with no superpowers, was still quite capable of going out into the field. Of getting results.

Joan Campbell would never in a month of Sundays have sent him back out into the field if Annie Walker hadn't come along.

Barcelona comes back to haunt him again. Their fight. Him accusing her of overprotectiveness. The parallels between that clash and the one that had just happened

Was it the same old story again? The same thing which had made him respond so viciously?

_\- I don't need a babysitter._

You don't.

But was that what she'd been doing this time?

He finds he has to pull back and look at his actions.

At her actions.

At the reasons for both.

If he's honest with himself, she had had just cause for concern. The evidence against Jaco had been mounting. How much of that had he chosen to disregard? To conveniently ignore? Just because he'd gotten to know Jaco.

And he did know Jaco – had spent time with the man, had built a very good idea of what he was about.

But he'd shared almost none of it with her.

Yet he'd expected her to just take it on trust from him that Jaco was a good guy. Even though, as Annie had pointed out to him, his track record on that score, although good, was not perfect.

Had she over-reacted?

Without a doubt.

But was there a reason for it?

Maybe.

You, of all people, should know how quickly anxiety can spiral into panic when you're still recovering from trauma.

Auggie remembers the early anxiety attacks after he had come home from Iraq. The anxiety that one could calm. And the anxiety that spiraled out of control. Caused one to act without thinking things through.

He realizes that he's been far more focused on himself than he should have been. He'd known Annie was fragile. That she was still dealing with after-effects of events stretching much further back than Henry Wilcox.

And yet he'd withheld things from her.

Things that might have given her the perspective she needed to calm her anxiety.

He'd been self-absorbed.

And he hadn't wanted to discuss Jaco with her.

Why is that?

An answer surfaces.

_\- Because of the way Jaco treats me._

Is it as simple as that?

And if it is, what does that say about Annie's accusations regarding his instincts?

Is he swayed so much by how people behave around him? He contemplates the friends he's made over the years. How many pre-Iraq friends has he kept in touch with? A handful: Dan, Kip, Tyler…All people who'd taken his blindness in their stride. (And come to think of it, one of those he'd also trusted to his detriment).

How much of his belief in Jaco's innocence stems purely from the man's matter-of-fact approach to him? Not avoidance, not embarrassment, not over-compensation. Just pragmatic acceptance, adaptation and integration.

_\- Not all._

Honestly?

_\- Honestly._

In Jaco's case there is more – his passion for his work, his belief in what he does. Strong supporting evidence.

But there is also an almost subconscious something inside him that wants the man to be an innocent victim.

And that affects his objectivity.

And the way he does his job.

The realization feels important. If I know about it I can deal with it.

He pursues the thought and its implications further – aware that he's heading into potentially deep waters. But also aware that he has to if he's going to move forward.

How much of his trust in Annie depends on her always 'getting it right' when it comes to him?

Why does he feel so betrayed by her right now?

Because she's fallen off that pretty pedestal you put her on. Was it fair to put her up there in the first place? To leave her no room for mistakes? Because that's what this was, Anderson. A mistake. An unintentional mistake. She just didn't think. That's all.

And God knows you've done worse to her.

He can't go there yet.

You have to go there sometime.

_\- I know. I just don't want to._

Getting off that bus. Helen. So awkward in her apartment. So tentative around him. So freaked out by his blindness. All he'd wanted was to stop that. To make her see he was OK. To go back to a time when things were easy.

To go back.

Shit. Was that it? Was that why he'd let it happen?

_\- No! I want to move forward. I always have. I said as much in Barcelona. I meant it then. I still do._

He does.

But deep down there's always a small part of him that grieves what he lost. That wishes he could go back.

'Every step forward begins with a firmly planted foot in the past.' But sometimes that foot doesn't want to leave. Wants to stay there.

He remembers someone telling him, in the early days after his injury: "Acceptance isn't a linear process. You face something new, you find yourself circling all the way round again."

It's true.

He'll just start thinking he's gotten there and something or someone will come along and he'll be back in the maelstrom again.

Natasha. Dr Kessell. Parker. Annie.

Why does it have to be so hard?

It just is, Anderson. Facts on the ground. You've just gotta deal with it.

Something else trickles through.

Annie riding into the rescue. People at dinner making patronizing remarks. Rising fury.

Resentment that he has to prove himself to everyone.

That he's not able to just do his job, live his life without everything being scrutinized. Evaluated. Commented on.

_\- It's not just my own acceptance I have to fight for over and over again._

No. It's not.

_\- It's exhausting. Constantly having to show everyone I'm OK. I'm together. I'm competent._

It is. But you do it anyway.

There's something else there, too. Deep down.

He goes in after it.

_\- I feel I have to prove myself to myself, sometimes. I go on missions like this one desperate to pull them off. Not just to show them I can. To show me I can._

Self-doubt?

Wow. He hadn't even realized that was in there.

His thoughts turn to the situation at hand.

_\- Am I doubting myself on this mission? Is that why I'm being so sensitive? Defensive?_

He knows the answer to that. Affirmative.

Why?

He's figuring out the answer to that too.

_\- Jaco. I worry that Annie might be right. That I've gotten too close._

Have you?

These two days with Jaco have been so easy. Not having to prove himself; having his capability assumed, taken for granted. It's…rare. Exhilarating.

Then this afternoon it had all come crashing down. And he'd been plunged right back into the icy waters of reality.

Miserable. Painful.

But overpowering?

Maybe not.

For now it all comes down to this:

Do you, right now, all these things considered, still trust your instincts on this? Can you, Auggie Anderson, blind, with no superpowers, complete this mission? Can you do this job?

The answer wells up - immediate, unimpeded, clear as crystal.

_\- Yes._

_Yes, I can._

* * *

He arrives back at their room close to midnight. Opens the door carefully. It's dead quiet. There's no greeting, no acknowledgment of his arrival. He checks the light-switch by the door – it's up. Main light is off. He makes his way over to the bathroom. Checks that light. Also off.

Is she out? Asleep? Pretending to be asleep? It would be nice to know, but he's not going to call to find out. It wouldn't really make any practical difference. He leaves it.

He gets ready for bed quietly, not wanting to wake her if she is there and asleep.

Climbs in under the covers.

Wonders if he may, actually, finally get some sleep.

From the bed next to his comes a soft sigh and the sound of Annie turning over in her sleep.

She is here.

Within minutes he's unconscious.

* * *

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Fairfax, Virginia_

McKenzie Campbell, aka 'The Tyrant' falls asleep at a reasonable hour for once. His parents waste no time in seizing the opportunity to eat together for a change. Properly. Like adults.

Joan Campbell even brings out candles.

It's a rare luxury these days and so very appreciated.

But towards the end of it, Arthur Campbell's cell phone rings. Or rather, not Arthur's cell phone. The ringtone is wrong.

Joan looks at him, surprised.

He doesn't comment. Just stands up, pulls an old, battered phone out of his pocket, holds up his hand in apology and walks away - closing himself into his office.

Twelve minutes later he emerges.

"That was…unusual," Joan says, quirking an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you were still doing real spy things."

"Oh, you know how it is," he says dismissively. "Once a spy, always a spy…" He's pauses on purpose. Sits back down at the table, taking his time, winding her up. Enjoying himself. He waits for the question.

It comes. "Anything I should know about?" The curiosity is killing her.

He relents.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." He is looking at her soberly now. "This is definitely something you need to know about."

He lays it all out for her.

She takes it in – thoughtful, analytical.

"This changes things for Auggie and Annie", she says contemplatively.

"Yes. It does" he agrees.

"Should we call them now?" She stops and does a quick calculation. "They're five hours ahead. It's one thirty in the morning there."

"Let them sleep, Joan," Arthur advises. "The Tyrant will more than likely have us awake at two or three in the morning. We can call them then."

His wife gives him a little look. "Anything in particular you were thinking of doing between now and then?" she asks. Innocently.

"Sleeping." he responds promptly. He twitches one eyebrow. "Of course, if you have any other suggestions…"

* * *

Annie crawls into Auggie's bed sometime in the early hours of the morning.

He says nothing, momentarily stunned and wondering vaguely if he's dreaming.

She says nothing either. Just lies curled up behind him as if seeking warmth. Close, but not quite touching.

He can feel her breath against the back of his neck.

He turns, rolling over onto his back, and gently reaches for her, pulling her in towards him.

"Annie?"

He wonders if it's a question or a prayer.

She responds by moving to lie against him, resting her head on his chest. He curls an arm lightly around her. Brushes his fingertips over her shoulder.

They stay for a while just like that. Quiet. Breathing together.

And then she speaks. Softly.

"Are you OK?"

No accusations. No apologies. No requests for apologies. Just "Are you OK?"

He smiles into her hair. She's wonderful, his Annie – both on and off her pedestal.

"Yeah." He murmurs it into her hair. Presses a kiss gently onto the top her head.

He is OK.

He really is.

He holds her – relishing the feel of her lying so relaxed against him. He's still filled with something of a sense of wonder. She's so still, so quiet, that he wonders if she's drifted off back to sleep.

But she moves.

"Auggie?"

It's a question.

And she gives him the answer.

She rolls over, sits up on her knees next to him, leans over him, takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

Their coming together is exquisitely, soul-rendingly slow. A tracing of fingers along edges. Remembered, yearned-for outlines.

She unfurls like a flower – one perfect petal at a time.

He is left ruptured open – little remnants of him float, as though drifting away in the wind. He isn't willing to start gathering them back just yet.

She curls up and tucks herself against him - her back against his side.

He lies on his back for a while, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.

He falls asleep with his fingers tangled loosely in her hair.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 16**

* * *

_Wednesday June 25th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia._

Ringing. Loud ringing.

Voice Over intoning "Joan Campbell Mobile".

Auggie Anderson goes from groggy to galvanized in seconds. He rolls over - with one hand trying to locate his phone on the nightstand, while at the same time frantically grabbing for the covers Annie has stolen from him with the other. He pulls them hastily over himself.

"Joan?" He's gratified to hear that any potentially lingering drowsiness has cleared from his voice.

"Auggie. Glad you're awake." Joan is all business. "Sorry I've called so early but something's come up and we need to talk with you and Annie."

"Uh-huh?" Auggie asks inarticulately. His voice may be awake but his brain hasn't quite caught up yet.

"We've run across something which may be critical to your mission. It's going to change things, so we need to discuss this with both of you. Is Annie around? Can we conference?"

"She's still asleep." As he says it realizes she isn't. She's sniggering next to him and tugging the covers back. He swats at her hand. Connects. Grins at her - pleased with his impeccable aim. "Lemme wake her up and we'll call you right back. Five minutes?"

"Perfect." Joan disconnects.

He replaces his phone on the nightstand. Annie erupts into peals of laughter.

"What?" he demands. Tries to frown at her, but he can feel his traitorous mouth curving into an involuntary grin, even though he has no idea what she's finding so funny. Hilarity is so damn contagious.

"You," she says. "The minute your phone said 'Joan Campbell'…" She bursts into giggles again.

"What?" he asks again, feeling a little exasperated.

"You were like a sixteen-year-old being caught in flagrante delicto by his mother. You pulled up that duvet so fast."

He gives her an unamused look. "Har." He's only half feigning offense. Then he stops. Reflects. Squints his eyes at her. "So you were awake?"

"Yep." She's unabashed.

"Watching me without me knowing it again, Walker?" But he's teasing her.

"I was taking advantage of your unconsciousness." She's affecting indignation. His lips quirk.

"Still unfair," he tells her. "I'm going to have to pay you back for that." He reaches for her shoulders, rolls her over onto her back, pins her down and proceeds to nuzzle her neck.

She pushes him away. "Auggie," she says, "aren't we supposed to be calling Joan?"

He sighs heavily. Sits back up. Starts reaching for his phone.

"You should probably put some pants on, you know," she advises him.

He finds his pillow and throws it at her.

* * *

They call Joan back, sitting together at Auggie's makeshift workstation set up on the table near the door. Auggie puts Joan on speaker.

"Arthur's here too," Joan tells them. "I'm going to let him give you the run-down on this."

_Interesting_, Auggie thinks. "Yeah, fine. We're listening," he says.

"Auggie. Annie." Arthur gets the formalities out of the way. Doesn't even wait for a response, just cuts to the chase. "Here's what's happening. Remember I told you Theresa Hamilton…uh...Helen…" - at least the man has the decency to sound a little chagrined about his slip-up - "…was working counter-proliferation for me? Getting detailed intel on arms trade routes, arms dealers and so on?" He pauses.

_I remember. Hard not to_. Auggie had punched the former DCS in the face only minutes before discovering that particular gem. It isn't a conversation he is ever likely to forget. He doesn't respond, though, just waits for Arthur to continue.

"She wasn't the only person I had working off-book for me on that side of things," Arthur goes on. "I've still got a couple of people out there..."

Joan has remained very quiet. Auggie wonders exactly how much Arthur has been keeping his successor informed on all of this. As if relationships weren't complicated enough as it is…He pulls his thoughts back sharply. Really doesn't want to go there right now.

Arthur is still speaking. "When Joan consulted me on this mission of yours it triggered something in my mind - a possible connection to something else I'd heard. so I asked one of my guys in Africa to look into it for me. He has. Got back to me last night. And confirmed what I'd picked up."

"Which was?" Arthur has Auggie's full attention now.

"Timing," Arthur replies. "Interesting timing. There's been a lot of concern regarding Al-Haqiqa after the hotel attack. Rumors of them planning some other big attack. They control a port town called Baraawe, south of Mogadishu, and we're pretty sure they've been trafficking arms and so on in and out of there." He stops to take a breath.

"Is this the same place where the SEAL Team six raid happened last year?" Auggie asks. "The one where they were forced to retreat?" Bells are starting to ring in his head.

"Yes," Arthur confirms. "Same town. The team went in to try and apprehend Abdulkadir Mohamed Abdulkadir, but had to abort the mission when they realized that the house where he was hiding had been packed with women and children. Risk of civilian casualties was too high."

Annie interjects. "This is the ex-Al Qaeda guy with links to the Embassy bombings and Mombasa attacks?"

Joan confirms it. "One and the same."

Arthur re-takes the floor. "What we're concerned about right now is that they may be planning some kind of retaliatory attack. Payback for the raid last October. So there's been a lot of attention focused on this guy. The phone call in Kenya that led to you two being where you are right now was as a direct result of that focus."

"You think these last few rhino horn orders might've been about funding some sort of attack on a US target?" Auggie can feel adrenalin beginning to course through his system. The more he hears, the more this 'little' mission of theirs is starting to have the feel of something a lot more significant.

Joan weighs in. "The timing is very suspicious. We've been picking up increased chatter, activity recently. That's why I didn't want to wait around on this - why I pulled you two in – so we could move more quickly."

"And there's something else," Arthur sounds grave. "Something Joan didn't know about. Something my guy gave us last night."

"What?" Auggie leans forward, his whole focus on Arthur, on what he's about to say - despite his now increased contact with Annie.

"He's been working on tracing weapons of CIA origin still floating around out there. I'm afraid the ones you intercepted in 2010 with the help of Christopher McCauley weren't the only ones Henry unofficially 'sowed' into the hands of arms dealers. And we're still trying to get some of them back." Arthur pauses. "Anyway," he continues, "this guy's gotten word of a small shipment of missile launchers and missiles. Coming in to East Africa. From somewhere in Europe. Ours."

Everyone is silent for a moment. There is so much history suddenly lying unspoken between all of them - Teo Braga, Arthur's dead son, an integral part of it. As is the link between those missile launchers and Teo's death.

Annie speaks first. "And we think they might be heading into the hands of Al-Haqiqa?" she asks. She's quiet but there's something else in her voice. Something steely. It worries Auggie. If this does tie back to Henry Wilcox in some way he knows that's going to fire her up. And he's not sure she's ready for that yet.

"Yes. We're concerned they may try something again in Kenya. The missile launchers could indicate they're thinking about another airline attack."

"Have we got a time-frame?" Auggie is starting to realize the reason for the early hour of the call.

"That's why we've called you." It's Joan who answers him. "A week to ten days until the missiles come in. They're going to have to have the funds by then. If all these threads are connected we're going to be seeing multiple M99 poaching events within the next few days."

"Wow." Auggie sits back. Runs a hand over his hair. "OK. So we're pretty much out of time here?"

"I'm afraid so," Joan confirms. "You're going to have to try an approach today, we think. How feasible is that for you?"

Neither he nor Annie responds, initially.

"Auggie?" Joan prompts.

He leans forward, hand on the table next to his phone. "We'll make it happen, Joan."

* * *

He makes coffee while she's in the shower. Waits for her on the deck once it's brewed – sipping slowly from the mug cradled in his hands and mulling over the implications of what they've just heard.

She emerges and joins him. Pours herself a coffee. Sits down next to him with a sigh.

Auggie can't help but feel just a little relieved that the circumstances of the last hour have given them a way to bypass the traditional 'morning after' conversation.

He honestly has no idea how to process the events of the last few days. He finds himself grateful for the reprieve. It's a conversation he wants to have, that they need to have, but that makes it even more important they get it right. A delay – some extra time to sort things out in his head – feels like a good thing.

For a little while anyway.

Annie seems to have the same opinion because the first thing she says to him once she's settled herself is: "So. What's our game plan?"

A fairly direct approach seems their best option. They really aren't going to have any other way to go about things given their shrunken time frame.

"I'll find a way to do a first approach this morning," Auggie tells her. "Give him just enough to persuade him to come here and talk with us after lunch. We can make a full approach once we have him here."

"Do we read him in, though?" Annie poses the question.

Auggie has thought long and hard about that. "I think we should try and avoid that," he tells her. "Thought maybe we could tell him we're investigative journalists? Keep our Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard covers but expand them a little?"

"Hmm…" She mulls that over. "Could work well, actually. Might be a little tricky to explain how we got some of the intel we have on him, though."

"Yeah, I know," Auggie concedes, "but I think we could work around most of it. The crucial stuff anyway. What could we realistically have had access to, d'you reckon?"

"The police reports – the M99 and his wife," she says without hesitation. "We, as journalists, could have found a police source in Joburg."

"Yeah," Auggie agrees. "Maybe his credit score rating, too? I can access that right now. Might give us at least enough to tell him we know he's in financial shit."

"Think it'll be enough?"

Auggie leans back in his seat, stretching. "If not we can always admit to being the kind of unethical investigative journalists who bug and search rooms." He winks at her. He locks his fingers together behind his head. Sobers a little. "That would give us blackmail leverage, if nothing else works." He stops, lost in thought for a brief moment. "I really don't think we're gonna need to go there, though. Not if I'm reading Jaco right. Moral pressure will probably do the trick." He slaps his palms down onto his thighs. "But," he says, sitting up, "if we do have to move on to monetary incentives we've got up to fifty thousand US from Joan…And we've got threats as a last resort."

"Sounds good to me." Annie's smiling. He can tell. Charged up.

She stands up. Gives his shoulder an enthusiastic pat.

"Let's go get him, Owen Garrett," she says.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 17**

* * *

_Wednesday June 25th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

The last two cheetahs for the day are located in two separate camps. This means Jaco knocks down the first cat and dispatches it the clinic with Team Two before their team moves on to fetch the second cheetah.

Auggie has the window he needs.

He and Jaco walk towards the camp where the second cheetah is – no Michael, no Paul-the-Brit this time. Just the two of them.

While waiting in the road for Jaco, who has left him in order to go on and dart the cheetah, Auggie mulls over his options. From the time the vet returns to fetch him he will have between five and ten minutes until the cat is down and they call in the vehicle.

Short, simple, straightforward.

His gut tells him that will be enough.

"Good clean shoulder shot." Jaco has returned. "She'll go down quickly." He sounds pleased. He offers Auggie a lead in his typically understated, pragmatic way.

They walk.

Auggie issues the request as simply as he can: "Jaco, if you're not busy this afternoon there's something Laura and I'd like to talk to you about."

The vet's response is equally uncomplicated. "Sure. That shouldn't be a problem. I need to meet with Michael and Holly straight after lunch to discuss an order for clinic supplies, but after that I'm available. Where would you like to meet?"

"You wanna to come over to our place?" Auggie is still waiting for the 'What is this about?' question.

It doesn't come.

"All right. I can come across as soon as I've finished with Michael and Holly."

That's it. No hesitation. No indication of suspicion. Or at least none that Auggie can pick up.

He can't decide if the man is very, very innocent or very, very clever.

He knows which it is he wants to believe.

Even with all the evidence to the contrary.

* * *

From the time they return to their room after lunch until Jaco arrives Auggie has them on the go. They refresh their cover stories, adding to them as feasibly and realistically as they can to support their investigative journalisms claims. They go through the websites Jaco has looked at, making sure the details hold up. They skim through other websites mentioning Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard ensuring they have all their bases covered.

Auggie will take point. Annie will follow his lead.

They pack away Auggie's workstation, leaving the table near the front door clear, apart from the Otjindawa information folder and Auggie's cane.

By the time Jaco knocks on the doorframe of the open doorway and calls out a greeting they are in the kitchen area – Auggie leaning back against the counter chatting to Annie who has her back to the door as she waits for the kettle to boil.

"Hey, Jaco." She watches Auggie straighten up. Watches as he gives the man one of his quintessential Auggie smiles – one of those that start at the corners of his eyes and work their way progressively down to the corners of his mouth. "Thanks for coming over. Michael and Holly all done with you?"

"They are." The vet is leaning against the doorframe, smiling in response, looking more relaxed than Annie has seen him. "I'm all yours."

Auggie's crinkly-cornered smile develops into a genuine grin. "Great," he says. "In that case, what can we offer you to drink? Laura's making tea. I'm in charge of the mini-bar."

"An Appletiser maybe? If you have one?"

Auggie opens the small under-counter refrigerator. "I have absolutely no idea, actually," he informs Jaco. "I only know the important ones."

"Which means beer, beer and beer," Annie chimes in. She leans over to peer into the open refrigerator. "Appletiser's third from the left, second shelf down," she informs Auggie, who reaches in and locates the bottle of sparkling apple juice for Jaco. He grabs a beer for himself.

She watches him twist off the screw cap for Jaco. "Glass?" he asks the man.

"No. No need." Jaco waves the offer off.

Auggie locates the bottle opener kept in the little utensils tray on top of the microwave and pops the cap off his beer. She finds herself thinking about the bottle-opener she keeps in her purse. He'd given it to her, the day after she'd moved into her first safe house. She'd left it behind when she'd gone dark, but it was one of only two things she'd reclaimed from that house when she'd come back – the other had been a frying pan from her sister. He has no idea it's there.

"OK if we sit outside?" Auggie asks Jaco, walking towards him and extending his drink out to him. Jaco takes it and the two men make their way onto the deck and the two chairs - still where she and Auggie had left them this morning, pulled away from the table because Annie had wanted to sit in the sun.

Annie pours water over the teabag in her mug and, leaving her tea to steep, carries a chair outside for herself. The minute Jaco sees what she's doing he leaps up to assist. She waves him away. "I'm fine," she tells him, sending him a smile. She dumps the chair down near Auggie's to complete a little semi-circle overlooking the plains. Goes back inside to retrieve her tea.

When she re-emerges there is a little family of warthogs at the waterhole. She sits down, sipping her tea and watching them, captivated as always by their antics.

"Laura got real quiet," Auggie comments to Jaco. "Are there warthogs around somewhere? She's easily distracted by warthogs."

Annie harrumphs at him and sticks out her tongue. And then has to tell him she did, because otherwise it's a wasted effort. He reciprocates.

Jaco watches the two of them, a smile on his face, but something else in his eyes – longing, maybe. Sadness.

"Michelle - my wife - loved warthogs, too," he tells her. "She never got bored of them. It didn't seem to matter how many she'd seen. She said they were so ridiculous someone had to take them seriously." Jaco's rare smile has reached all the way up into his eyes and into his voice. For the first time Annie has a real glimpse of what it is Auggie sees in him.

Annie laughs. "I think that's exactly what I like about them, too," she confesses, "although I probably wouldn't have realized it unless you'd told me that." She sobers, watching Jaco. He glances back up and makes eye-contact with her. His expression is soft. Vulnerable.

She feels a stab of guilt – so very aware of what she and Auggie are about to do to him.

"I'd have liked to have met her," she tells him, softly. Meaning it.

"She'd have liked you," Jaco responds. "You remind me of her a little, actually. She made people around her happy just by being there."

He is perfectly sincere. She is touched.

Auggie has turned to smile at her. Holds out his hand to her. She gives him hers. "Yeah, that's Laura too," he says, lacing his fingers through hers.

They lapse into an easy silence for a little while – each seemingly content to remain in the moment.

But Auggie has to break it, though she strongly suspects he wishes he didn't.

He squeezes her hand and lets her go, putting his beer bottle down on the floor beside his chair. Annie watches him lean forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He briefly lowers his head, forehead pressing against clasped hands, but then he looks up towards Jaco, allowing his hands to drop down between his knees.

The time has come.

"Jaco, Laura and I stumbled across something we think you need to know about – something that could mean trouble for you when you go back to South Africa." It's said quietly, sympathetically, but firmly. "That's why we asked you here this afternoon."

Annie watches Jaco carefully. His full attention is on Auggie but his expression is hard to read. He doesn't respond. Waits instead for Auggie to continue.

Auggie does. "I'm gonna start by telling you something about Laura and me. Something you need to know so you can understand how we got ahold of this." He pauses briefly, facing forward now as if looking out over the plain in front of them. Jaco's expression has shifted slightly – eyes narrowing a little. Wary. He still says nothing, though.

Auggie blows out a breath. "We're investigative journalists, Jaco, and we've been working on another story while we're down here, too."

Jaco's eyes have widened. "You're investigative journalists?" Finally he has something to say. His surprise seems genuine. "I never found anything about that when I looked you up…" He suddenly seems to realize what he's admitted. Reddens. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wasn't spying on you. I just wanted to see what kind of work you were doing. Read some of your articles. You made an impression on me. I was curious…" He tails off.

Auggie has picked up on Jaco's embarrassment. He turns to face him. "In our job," he says, "we do spy. I'm not gonna kick up a fuss about someone looking me up out of interest." He gives the man a reassuring smile. "You wouldn't have picked up anything under 'Owen Garrett', though. We don't publish those articles under our names. Problem with me being blind is that it's pretty hard to stay under the radar. If we made it public that it was a blind guy producing the exposés…well, let's just say I'm conspicuous enough that it would end my career. That part of it at least. It's also why we tend to work on innocuous stories at the same time."

Jaco's nodding thoughtfully. "I can imagine," he says. "But doesn't it work both ways? How often do you get to ask questions others can't because people underestimate you? Think you're 'safe'?"

"Well, there you go. Nail on the head," says Auggie, sitting back, crinkling his eyes at the man appreciatively. "Blindness makes for great cover. Getting to use people's preconceived ideas against them? Misdirection without even trying." His expression broadens into a genuine smile. "Doesn't work with everyone, though." It's so obviously aimed at Jaco, but the man doesn't even smile. Watches Auggie with solemn eyes instead.

Jaco bends forward to put his own empty bottle down. Sits back up. Asks: "So what is this other story you're working on? What particular aspect of the disaster that is my life did you uncover? There are so very many possibilities. Believe me." There is marked bitterness in his voice. Annie finds it jarring. She hasn't seen anything but Jaco's 'together' side up until now. He is clenching his jaw – seems to be trying to get his emotions back under control.

She is moved to ask him gently "Jaco, what's going on?"

He doesn't answer. Glances over at her. Meets her eyes briefly, looking stricken. Then he bends over – head in his hands, breathing out audibly as if trying to regain his composure.

Auggie has picked up on the man's distress. He leans forward again, face turned towards him, concern written all over his face.

"Jaco?" he prompts quietly.

Jaco looks up at him. His eyes are filled with tears. He swallows.

"I don't even know where to start," he says.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 18**

* * *

_Wednesday June 25th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

There are some people who don't need to be manipulated into turning.

People who out of desperation have ended up in places they see no way out of.

People who just need to be given the opportunity to turn themselves.

Everything Annie has seen tells her that they're about to witness Jaco Bouwer do exactly that.

And Auggie is masterfully facilitating that conversion – with empathy, sensitivity and consummate skill.

He has a slight smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he addresses the vet. "I know this is a cliché," he says, "but I've found starting at the beginning generally works pretty well."

Jaco huffs out something like a laugh. Looks gratefully at Auggie - probably because of his subtle way of breaking the tension. Draws in a ragged breath and releases it as a long sigh.

"How far back do I go?" he asks.

"Go back to a time when there was no mess," Auggie advises simply, "and take it forward from there."

"It feels like there's always been mess." Jaco is shaking his head slowly. "Ever since Michelle and I started getting serious, anyway."

"So start there." Auggie's attitude is one of absolute focus on the man – elbows on thighs, chin on hand, finger thoughtfully to his lips. Waiting.

Jaco sighs deeply and then begins - the words initially hesitant, but gaining momentum. It seems he's needed the permission, the space, to do this, and now he has it he's not sure how to handle it.

He addresses Auggie. Annie has accepted that her role in this scenario, initially at least, is as observer only. Realizes that the trust Auggie has fostered in Jaco is the key reason this exchange is happening the way it is. And so she stands back - to do otherwise will be to risk disrupting the process.

"We studied together in Pretoria," he says. "We got to know each other well and things moved on from there." He quirks up a corner of his mouth. "I think we must have been the most unlikely couple ever in the history of the Veterinary faculty. She was a rich city girl from an elite family, I was a farmer's son. She drove an MG convertible, I drove a bakkie. She wore designer jeans, I wore khaki. A lot of khaki." He smiles to himself as if remembering a private joke. He probably is. "But she loved me. It took her a lot of effort to persuade me that she really meant it. But she did." He looks up at Annie then, for the first time since he'd begun. His eyes are soft. He holds her gaze for a moment.

He continues: "When we started talking about getting married though...that's when the problems really started." His eyes are back on Auggie. "You have to understand her family. Money, status, standing in society is everything to them. Her father's ideas of how things should be are law." He pauses. "They refused to fund her studies because she wanted to become a vet and they didn't feel that was appropriate. She had to use money from a trust fund from her grandfather and take out a student loan. She hated to hurt them – hurt her mother - but she stood her ground. Her father threatened her with disinheritance, with cutting her off."

Auggie's eyebrows go up at that.

Jaco nods slightly. "I know", he says, acknowledging Auggie's expression. "And it was a serious threat – he did it to her older brother. Jean-Paul came out as gay a few years before Michelle and I met. Their father told him he was dead to them. Kicked him out. Threatened Michelle and her younger brother with the same if they ever made contact with him..."

Auggie sits up. "Shit," he says. "That's extreme."

"Ja. But that's what her father's like. Hard." Jaco's expression is grim. "It was devastating for Michelle. But she was angry too. Angry at what it did to her mother. I think she made a vow to herself then already that she would not be manipulated by him. That's why she held out when it came to her studies. And why she married me." He smiles a little.

"He hated it, hated me, but didn't go as far as he had with Jean-Paul. Their friends might look down their noses at me, but at least I was white, professional, straight and Afrikaans."

"Nice." Auggie is shaking his head - mouth pulled into a straight line, looking disgusted. Annie is feeling the same way.

Jaco is gaining momentum now. "We spent as little time with her parents as was polite. Her younger brother though...he's OK. We saw him a lot - I still do. We gave his girlfriend a job in our practice when we opened it…"

Auggie interjects: "So you opened a practice together?"

"Yes. We both worked for a few years in other practices first, gained experience, paid off our student loans. But her dream was that we'd open a practice of our own in Joburg. She wanted to build a first-class small animal veterinary hospital over time, and provide me with a base for my wildlife work.

"That's what we started. We borrowed money, we worked hard, she used her grandfather's trust fund, and we made it happen. We were really starting to get there..." He stops. Takes a deep breath.

Auggie seems to have intuited what comes next. "And then she died?" he asks quietly.

"And then she died," Jaco confirms. "And I went to pieces…"

His emotions have welled up again. He chokes off. Looks anguished. Tries to speak. Fails.

"Hey," says Auggie. Soothing. "It's OK. Take your time."

Jaco stands up and moves to the deck railing. Leans forward against it as if for support, drinking in the arid bush in front of him. Auggie tracks his movements, a frown of concern creasing his brow. Annie watches him, struck yet again by the obvious rapport between the two men.

After a while Jaco turns back around, emotions somewhat back under control. "I let her down." He blows out a breath. "I couldn't deal with anything that reminded me of her. I moved out of our house into the flat at the practice. I neglected the practice – our work – her dream. I couldn't face it. I just let everything slide. And by the time I had pulled myself together we were in big trouble – the business was on the brink of bankruptcy, the bank was threatening to repossess the property.

"She'd only taken out a small life insurance policy and that had been used up. She had quite a bit of inherited money and property that was to pass on to me if she died, but her estate was taking time to be wound up. I did what I could to try and help us keep going, at least till that money came in. I took on a great new vet who started pulling back Michelle's clients. And I began to find work again on the wildlife side, and we looked like we'd be able to claw our way back..." He stops. His face changes. Hardens. "And then I was given notice that her father was going to contest her will."

There's a shift in the mood. From pain to outrage. "She'd left everything to me but there'd been a previous will, made when she'd inherited from her grandfather, and he claimed that her new will hadn't revoked the previous will. So they took me to court. It dragged through the courts for almost two years – and all that time the money that could have been helping keeping the things she cared so much about alive was tied up in her estate. And I've been going backwards trying to fight it – lawyers' fees, keeping creditors at bay…" He's looking at Annie as much as Auggie – the story's for both of them now.

She feels the permission to ask "And where are you now?"

Auggie swings his head around to face her, a slightly surprised smile around his mouth as if to say 'So you've joined us, Walker.'

Jaco responds. "In theory we're good. He took the case all the way up but six weeks ago it ended. We won. With costs."

Auggie has picked up on that. "In theory?," he quotes, turning it into a question.

Jaco sighs heavily. "Bloody lawyers." He looks at Annie. "Excuse my French," he apologizes. Annie waves it off, smiling inwardly at the unfailing good manners so very characteristic of him. "I have been fighting with them to release the money to me since that time. It's been in their account for over a month, but they didn't want to send it to me because the money for costs hadn't come through to them. I have had to fight with them every day – I even threatened to sue them for it – but finally I'm getting there." He smiles properly for the first time in their conversation. "I got the first payment into my account yesterday."

Realization is dawning on Annie. The first phone-call Auggie and I listened to - that was Jaco to his lawyers. She looks over at Auggie to try and read from his expression whether he's thinking the same. Damn it, eye contact would be useful right now. She buries the tiny spark of frustration. Not important in the big picture, Annie.

"So, not a mess anymore, then." Auggie states, stretching back in his chair. Sits back up again. "That's great, Jaco." He says it with utter sincerity. But he doesn't leave it there. "It's not the only mess, though." He lays it out there baldly. A flat statement. He's not wasting time.

Jaco looks at him appraisingly. "You found out about Michelle?" He is nodding to himself. "It was either the money or that," he muses, "although I can't figure out what story you'd be working on that would cause you to come across anything about either." It's framed as a statement, but really it's a question.

He looks at Auggie first, but when Auggie doesn't respond he looks at her. "We're doing a story on rhino poaching," she tells him, watching him very carefully, wondering where this will lead. "We managed to get ahold of some police reports."

Jaco holds her gaze for a long while without saying anything. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Auggie lean forward again. Then Jaco speaks. "So you know they found one of Michelle's killers." He pushes away from the railing and takes his seat again. Bends forward. Runs one hand over his hair and then looks up. Neither she nor Auggie say anything. It seems Auggie's instincts are aligned with hers: Give the man space.

"It was a good thing for me," Jaco says, "when they told me. It brought me some kind of closure. The man was dead. There was some sort of justice in that." He meets her eye. Swallows. "And somehow, finally, I had the courage to do what I'd not been able to do until then – to go back to our house and pack up her things."

Auggie has sat back and folded his arms. He is frowning – a shrewd look on his face. "You found something there," he says.

Jaco looks at him sharply. He seems surprised. "Yes," he confirms. "How do you know?" He stops. "Wait," he says. "Have you been talking to Julian Willemse?" He pronounces it with a 'V' – the Dutch way. He's frowning.

"It was just a guess," Auggie responds. Explains: "You said there was a mess. Didn't sound messy enough to me."

Jaco nods. That seems to work for him. "Yes. I found some things. Some things that made me wonder if someone had been blackmailing, or trying to blackmail, Michelle. She'd locked them in a drawer in her desk."

"What things?"

"Photos. Photos of her and Jean-Paul, the older brother I told you about, together. Black and white, telephoto lens pictures - the kind you see on TV in spy shows. They were taken less than a year before she died."

Auggie is piecing things together. "You think someone was threatening to show them to her father?"

"I can't think why else they'd be there. Not that kind of photo. They weren't holiday snapshots."

"Did you know she'd seen him?" Annie interjects.

"Yes. She'd stayed in touch with him all along," Jaco tells them. "He lives in London now, but whenever he came back to South Africa they'd meet up."

"But you said she stood up to her father about her career. About your marriage. Why wouldn't she stand up to him about this? Why would it work as blackmail?" Annie can't work it out.

"Because he wouldn't bend on this one. Anyone who knew him would have known that. And if he'd cut her off too it would have destroyed her mother." The distress is back in Jaco's eyes.

Auggie has his head tilted to one side a little. He's looking thoughtful. "You're thinking there might be a connection between this and her death," he deduces. "Thinking it maybe wasn't a case of 'wrong place, wrong time'."

The vet is nodding. "I got hold of her bank statements and there were monthly payments of five thousand rand going out to an account with no reference. They stopped two months before she was killed. I also looked at her cell phone bills for those two months. She made a lot of calls to one specific number in the last few days before she died. It's not a number on her phone or mine." He pauses. "I've actually talked to a private detective about it," he says. "That Julian Willemse I mentioned to you."

"And he hasn't been able to trace the bank account or phone numbers?" Auggie looks surprised.

"I didn't have money for his retainer," Jaco says. "But when the money came in yesterday I told him he could get going on it – paid him and asked Jenny to courier the photos and things to him. Hopefully I'll know something soon." He sounds determined.

The other phone call, Annie realizes. She wonders briefly who it was that he'd said was in the way. The father maybe? Someone else? Or maybe she'd just misunderstood. But it's a fleeting question. Everything still fits. So much of what Jaco's telling them is putting distance between the man and the evidence that had seemed to be building up against him.

She watches Auggie. He looks tense. And wary. And something else. Shuttered, maybe. As if he's trying to suppress something. She wonders if it's hope.

"And then what?" Auggie asks. His voice seems cold. "You go after the blackmailer, if there is one? Make even more of a mess for yourself?" He pauses. Takes a breath. "Why do you need to know, Jaco?"

"Because I need this to end, Owen." Auggie's succeeded in provoking Jaco. The vet's is agitated. His voice is raised. "I need this bloody roller-coaster to stop so I can just get off." His angst accentuates the last part - the words are separated emphatically.

He breaks off abruptly, stands and goes back to the railing, his back to them again. It is a testament to his degree of distress that he doesn't even apologize for his language. He just stands there, his shoulders heaving as he tries to calm himself.

Auggie is looking strained. Annie goes over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Support for what he needs to do next.

"But you can't, can you?" Auggie says. "You're in over your head, aren't you, Jaco?"

Everything changes.

Jaco swings around, bemusement etched all over his face. "In over my head, how, Owen? What did you think I was planning to do? Murder a blackmailer?" He's outraged. "What made you think I was that kind of man?" His eyes are flashing. "I just want to see him or her arrested. Dealt with. I want to draw a line under everything." He looks at Auggie long and hard - his anger morphing into hurt.

Annie has been shut out again. Whatever is flying between these two men has isolated her. Doesn't involve her. She pulls her hand away from Auggie and stands back. She has resumed her role as observer.

It's Auggie who is agitated now. "I don't think you're that kind of man, Jaco. That's why I'm struggling so much with this information we have. I understand desperation, believe me. But I just don't get this."

Jaco has moved beyond offense. "Owen, I don't know what you're talking about." He sounds scared. "What information?" His eyes are fearful.

Auggie hasn't picked up on the fear. He just sounds frustrated. Exasperated. "Information about M99, Jaco." He sighs – the breath loaded with disappointment. "About supplying it to poachers. About you supplying it to poachers."

The vet's eyes have widened with shock. "Who gave this to you?" he asks. "What did they say?"

It's not a denial.

"The cops, Jaco," Auggie says. He sounds so tired. "The SAPS Anti-poaching task force. They found a bottle of M99 registered to you at a poaching site a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, God." The vet's legs seem to collapse under him. He slides down to the floor by the railing, head down on his knees, arms wrapped around them. He doesn't move for a long, long time.

Then he looks up at Auggie. Straight up into his face. His own face is etched with grief. But his eyes are steely. Full of rage. When he speaks his voice is thick with it.

"Have you seen what they do to those animals, Owen?" he asks. His voice is low. It comes out through clenched teeth. His anger is palpable. He hasn't realized his faux pas. Auggie doesn't seem to give a shit. He is fixated on the man – every sense absolutely trained on him.

"They take a chainsaw. And they cut off the front of their faces to get every last bit of horn. And they leave them like that. To wake up. To die in agony. They don't even have the decency to shoot them." His face crumples. He covers it with his hand. Presses hard.

Then he looks up at Auggie. "I could never…" He chokes off, eyes wide, pleading.

"I couldn't…" He tries again. Fails.

Annie watches as Auggie stands up. Carefully makes his way to the man. Crouches down in front of him – he's judged it well – and talks to him. "I believe you, Jaco." He says it softly. That's all he says.

The vet looks up at him. Distraught.

"What do I do, now?" he asks.

There are some people who don't need to be manipulated into turning.

Because they're not the ones who need to be turned.

* * *

*bakkie: A South African word for a pick-up truck or utility vehicle.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 19**

* * *

_Wednesday June 25th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

By the time Auggie tells Jaco Bouwer that he believes in the man's innocence it is the truth. During their whole conversation he has been, as much as possible, maintaining his mental distance – trying to be as coldly analytical as he can be in the circumstances.

And the man's story holds up. Jaco had not known they'd accessed his computer – his bank accounts. He had not known they'd overheard his phone conversations. He had not known they'd seen the contents of the folder in his room.

And yet he'd told them a story that convincingly explained every single detail in a way that proved no link to the incriminating bottle of M99.

And though he knows he cannot rationally separate his emotions from Jaco's response to their revelations about that bottle, the vet's reaction had rung true. His shock. His bewilderment. His passionate condemnation of the horrific suffering of animals he cares so deeply about.

His despair.

'What do I do now?'

It is that question that gets Auggie moving.

He pushes himself up off his haunches and onto his feet. Holds out a hand to the vet.

"We," he says, emphasizing the word, "are gonna figure that out right now."

He is gratified to feel the man's hand grip his.

He pulls Jaco to his feet.

* * *

Annie, replacing the tea tin onto the shelf in the room, looks over her shoulder through the open door at Auggie and Jaco sitting side-by-side on the deck. Jaco is cradling a mug of tea that he has accepted from Annie in lieu of the stronger drink Auggie had offered him. Auggie is...being Auggie – present, thoughtful. There.

She feels a tug of recognition. How many times has she sat alongside him just as Jaco is now – seeking reassurance, advice, solidarity?

"Laura," Auggie calls back over his shoulder to her, "you coming?"

"On my way," she says, picking up her own mug of tea from the counter.

She sits. Catches Jaco's eye. Gives him a slight nod of reassurance. He's more composed, but his eyes are still stricken. He breaks eye contact. Looks down at his mug. Brings it up to his mouth. Takes a sip.

There's a silence. Respectful. Auggie, like Annie, seems to be sensing the wisdom of giving Jaco space – allowing him to take the floor when he's ready.

The vet takes his time. Pensively sips his tea. Then he speaks, his voice full of apology. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that." He glances up again at Annie. "It's just…" He breaks off, as if to gather his thoughts. "I just keep thinking it's getting better, you know? That I'm finally finished with all the struggling. And then something else happens." He's beginning to lose his composure again. Stops. Takes a deep breath.

Auggie has turned to face him. There are grim lines around his mouth. His eyes. "Yeah, I know a bit about that," he says.

Jaco glances at him briefly – a quick, sidelong glance. He leans forward. Looks at Auggie again. A long look this time. "Yes. I can imagine you do," he says – his expression shrewd. He is nodding slightly as if to himself. He's quiet for a moment. Then he asks, "What made you keep going?"

"Hmm…" Auggie hunches his shoulders a little. Looks away from Jaco as if giving the question some thought. "Stubbornness, I guess," he says eventually, turning back to face Jaco. "I kinda like giving the Universe a one-fingered salute." He sends him a fleeting grin. His face sobers quickly, though – his expression becoming very earnest. "You're not on your own on this one, Jaco. You know that, right? We can help. If you want us to."

Jaco stares out over the plains – the arid, beautiful space on the other side of the railing. "How?" he asks.

"By working through this one piece at a time," replies Auggie. "By working out how that bottle could have gotten there if you didn't put it there. And then, from there, working out who could have done it and why..." He stops.

Jaco is watching him intently - with full concentration. The shock seems to be wearing off. Hopefully he can now give Auggie what is needed - his focus, his intelligence, his knowledge.

"How's that sound?" asks Auggie. "You ready to walk us through some things here?"

"I'm ready." The man sounds composed, resolute.

"Good." Auggie is nodding, his brow creased. Figuring things out in his head. He sits back, folds his arms against his chest. "OK," he says. "Why don't we start with M99..."

* * *

By the time Auggie has finished carefully and strategically extracting information from Jaco a clearer picture is emerging regarding the direction they need to take next. Auggie suggests Jaco go back to his room - "We're going to have to make some calls, see what we can get organized. We'll do that and then come and find you before dinner. Let you know what's happening."

Jaco departs.

* * *

They put in a call to Langley. When Joan hears what it's about she loops in Calder, too.

_Great,_ thinks Auggie, wryly, two people I have to talk around.

They've given Joan and Calder the run-down: Jaco's story and the tie-ins with the evidence they have accumulated thus far.

"What do your instincts say?" Joan asks. "Is he our guy?"

"No." Auggie doesn't equivocate. "It hasn't felt right from the start, Joan. I spent half a day with the guy and my gut was already telling me it didn't fit."

"Annie?" Joan seeks a second opinion.

"I agree with Auggie, Joan. I think he's telling us the truth."

"OK…" Joan draws it out. "So where do we go from here?"

Auggie seizes his opportunity. "We spoke to Jaco about the drug. The procedure for ordering from the suppliers." He expounds: "It works like this: The supplier has to have a signed prescription for each order, so Jaco writes one. Signs it. It then gets faxed through to the supplier who registers the bottle or bottles to Jaco and then dispatches the order" He stops briefly for a breath. "Once it gets to the practice it's logged into their system, and then Jaco keeps a record of his patient-by-patient usage in a drug register which then gets reconciled with the records on the system when he gets back…"

Calder has obviously been listening attentively because he jumps in. "So definitely breachable in a few places," he deduces.

"Yeah," Auggie confirms. "Jaco doesn't often fax the prescriptions himself. He usually leaves that to whoever puts in the rest of the drug order for that day."

"Being…?" prompts Joan.

"Being the practice manager or the other vet."

Annie chimes in: "The practice manager is Michelle Bouwer's younger brother's girlfriend – Leeza Ford - she's been there since they opened about five years ago. The new vet has been working there for about nine months. Dr. Theresa Purdon."

"Did Jaco give any indication whether he thought either of them might be responsible?"

"No," Auggie replies, remembering Jaco's insistence that it couldn't be either of them. That there must be some other explanation. "He seems pretty sure neither could be involved."

"But…" Joan has astutely picked up on Auggie's tone.

"But," Auggie echoes, "they're the only two people with real opportunity. Whoever it is must be accessing both the ordering side of things and record-keeping. Otherwise Jaco would be seeing the discrepancies."

"So, we're gonna have to look into these two now?" Calder sounds exasperated. "With a rapidly ticking time bomb on our hands." He sighs audibly. "Why is it that the minute you two get involved things get complicated?" He pauses. "I guess we're going to have to get Joburg on it ASAP."

Auggie clears his throat.

"Auggie, don't bother. I already know what you're going to say." Joan stalls him. There is amusement in her voice.

"Oh, no. No." Calder is sounding somewhat disturbed. "Joan. Bad idea. These two are trouble just waiting for a place to happen."

"They also," Joan adds – not, Auggie notes, denying Calder's sentiment – "are very good at getting things done." Still in my corner, Auggie thinks with a swell of affection.

"Auggie," she continues, directing the conversation back towards him, "be completely honest with me now. How good a chance have you got of getting to the bottom of this? Quickly?"

He doesn't hesitate. "A good chance, Joan." He says it emphatically. "Through Jaco we have access to the practice, the systems, the people…"

"But he could give that all to someone in Joburg too," objects Calder.

"We have his trust," Auggie argues, "so we have him. That counts for a lot when time's running out."

"OK. OK." Joan's voice cuts across their debate authoritatively. "I've made my decision. Annie and Auggie will go to Johannesburg tomorrow."

_Yes_!

"But…" she interrupts Auggie's internal celebration, "we'll work out a protocol with Joburg and you'll link with them, work with them. Are we clear?" She's in full-on lecture mode. "No going off the radar."

"Yes, Ma'am." He does his best to sound compliant.

"Hmm." She sounds skeptical. "Don't make me regret this," she says. Then she adds reflectively, as a sort of self-directed afterthought, "I always say that, don't I?"

Calder makes no comment, but Auggie is pretty sure their boss is shaking his head in exasperation. Maybe even rolling his eyes. In fact he'd be willing to place a bet on it.

* * *

They walk up to Jaco's room an hour or so before supper. "We're here," says Annie, stopping – at the precise moment Auggie hears the door open, an indrawn breath and Jaco huffing out a short laugh.

"That was good timing," Jaco says. "I was just about to leave this on my door."

There is a rustle of paper. Annie reads aloud: "Holly has asked me to check one of the cheetahs. Will be back by dinner." More rustling as she presumably hands the note back to Jaco. "What's wrong?" Annie asks, sounding concerned.

"I don't think it's anything serious," the vet assures her. "One of the staff saw some blood on Marge's flank this evening and is worried she may have injured herself somehow. I'm just going to drive down and check quickly if it's something I need to do anything about." The room door closes. Is locked. "Do you two want to come along? We can talk on the way. It'll be just us."

"Sure." He and Annie say it almost in unison. He grins at her. Feels the brush of her fingers on his arm and switches around so he can hold her elbow. Gives her arm a little squeeze. _Thanks_.

He joins Jaco in the front of the vehicle, Annie choosing to sit in back. As they pull away Auggie begins bringing the vet up to speed. "We made our calls," he tells Jaco. "Spoke to the powers that be. They've said Laura and I can head over to South Africa. Start looking into it ourselves." He can feel an involuntary smile beginning to form. He doesn't fight it. "They're hoping we'll dig up a bigger story, I think."

Jaco doesn't comment.

Auggie realizes what that must have sounded like to him.

"Jaco, listen to me." he says, sobering quickly - trying to push the earnestness he's feeling into his voice. Facing the guy. Doing what he can to get his message across to him. To make him believe. "We're on your team. Don't doubt that, OK? Laura and I have to tell our editor what she wants to hear, but trust me on this, please: We are not going to publish anything on this without you knowing about it. I promise. And we are going to do our best to get to the bottom of this for you. OK?"

He is relieved to hear Jaco's quiet responding "OK."

"Good." Auggie leans back again. "Now. We're gonna be flying to Johannesburg tomorrow and obviously the sooner we can start work the better."

Jaco is already ahead of him. "Owen, just tell me where you need to go, what you need to see and who you need to talk to and I'll do whatever I can."

Auggie does just that.

Jaco pulls the vehicle to a halt, opens his door, climbs out. Auggie hears Annie's door opening too. "You coming?" she asks him.

"Nah," he says. "I'll wait here."

The vehicle shifts as she gets out. Her door closes.

He broods - mulling over the task they have ahead of them. For all of two minutes. And then his door is jerked open.

"Owen. Out." He is startled but the adrenalin subsides rapidly when he realizes she is sounding imperious, not anxious. His mouth quirks.

"You've been spending too much time with Holly", he informs her, giving her a look. But he grabs his cane off the dash and clambers out.

"Come." She offers him a lead. He accepts, closing the door behind him.

"What's happening?" he enquires, but she doesn't answer, just drags him forward. She stops. "OK, you're in front of the fence," she tells him. "Crouch down and put your hand up against it."

He reaches forward, finds the fence, lifts an eyebrow at her but does what she says. A warm furry cheetah head (he presumes that's what it is) pushes against his hand and then moves away, returns. The accompanying soundtrack is deafening.

"Marge?" he asks Annie, but it's Jaco, coming up behind him who answers.

"Yes. The old lady herself."

"Is that her purring?" he asks. It sounds like a Harley engine. Same tone. Same volume.

"It's incredible isn't it?" There's a laugh bubbling up in Annie's voice. Delight. "You see why I had to come get you?"

He grins up at her. "It's crazy," he says, shaking his head a little. He tickles Marge's head through the diamond mesh. "Is this safe, Jaco? I mean, should I be keeping my hand flat? I kinda need these fingers."

Jaco laughs. "You're fine," he tells Auggie. "You can give her a good scratch. She loves it."

The volume of Marge's purring is certainly adding weight to Jaco's assertion.

"How is she?" he asks the vet.

"Oh, she's fine," Jaco says. "It isn't her blood. It looks like a guinea fowl learnt the hard way that landing in a cheetah's camp is not a very good idea."

"Attagirl," Auggie compliments her, impressed. "Still got it in you, huh?" He gives the ear she presses against his hand a good scratch.

She rumbles her appreciation.

* * *

They walk back from dinner under no moon and a sky full of stars. Or so Annie tells him. She seems enraptured by the clarity of the sky, the volume of stars.

"Just don't start naming them all for me," he tells her. "I know you're a space camp graduate and all, but really, don't."

Back at the room, they open a bottle of wine. He sits on the deck with glass in hand and drinks in the night along with his wine. He feels himself relaxing, lulled by the peace of it all.

Annie is puttering around doing things in the room, though, and that bothers him.

"What're you doing, Walker?" He leans back to call to her.

"I'm sorting the laundry they sent back this afternoon" she informs him. "It'll make packing easier tomorrow."

"The laundry can wait," he decides. "There are more important things for you to do right now."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" It's odd, but there's a raised eyebrow in her voice. Auggie can hear it. Clear as a bell.

"Like coming over here," he tells her.

She doesn't answer immediately. The puttering stops and then the soft strains of mellow saxophone begin to drift outside. The smell of Annie follows, and then Annie herself.

"Mmmm. Coltrane," he says approvingly to her, placing his glass on the table. He stands up. Pushes his chair aside and holds out a hand. "Where are you, Miss Walker?"

A hand slides into his, followed by a body which molds itself against his. "I'm here," she murmurs into his ear.

"Hello." He smiles into her hair and pulls her in against him. "Would you like to see if we can get all the way through a dance this evening?"

She laughs. "I would," she tells him.

He, however, has lost focus. His hands have revealed something to him. He stills. "Are you wearing what I think you're wearing?" He hopes so. He really hopes so.

"If you think I'm wearing that dress from Vienna, then yes. I am." He can hear the satisfied grin under the words. She's surprised him. She'd wanted to surprise him.

He sends up a silent hallelujah and pulls her in close. "If this is what you mean when you say 'sorting the laundry'" he says, pulling her into a turn as the bass-line begins to pick up, urging them to move, "I'm OK with that."

She giggles. And she moves with him.

And they dance.

* * *

He lies stretched out on his back on his bed, hands under his head, and listens to her getting ready for bed. The room door is open allowing a cool breeze and night sounds to drift in and merge with the sounds of her.

"Why'd you pack that dress, anyway?" he calls to her in the bathroom.

"Last minute thing" she says, mouth full of toothbrush. Sound of spitting and rinsing. "I knew they often have A-list celebs here. Stuck it in just in case we found ourselves in fancy company."

"You should probably have told me to pack my tux, though" he tells her. "You'd have looked really strange on the arm of a guy dressed entirely in khaki."

"Har," comes her response.

There's a small part of him wondering if that was the only reason she'd packed it.

Soft footfalls herald her coming and then she is on the bed next to him. He props himself up on one elbow. She pushes him back down again so she can lie on her back next to him - rests her head on his shoulder. He curls his arm around her so that he can play with her hair.

"Feeling a little lonely all the way over here?" she teases him.

"Not anymore."

He says it very seriously. Means it.

They lie together quietly for a while, neither saying anything. He doesn't want to. Doesn't need to.

"I'm going to miss this place," she says wistfully. "It's…" She doesn't finish, just allows the words to form themselves in the air around them.

"It is," he agrees.

He reaches over so that he can trace the side of her face with the back of one finger.

_It is_.


	21. Chapter 21

**PART THREE**

* * *

**JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA**

* * *

**CHAPTER 20 **

* * *

_Thursday June 26th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

Joan's phone call to the Lodge at a quarter to five the next morning sets in motion a rapid cascade of events that sees Auggie and Annie boarding a flight to South Africa by mid-morning.

The staff at Otjindawa Lodge, it appears, are willing to move heaven and earth to help Laura Pritchard get back to New York and her critically ill mother as soon as possible. The chef is woken up so that they can have an early breakfast. Michael re-schedules his day so he can drive them down to Windhoek to be there in time for the flight to Johannesburg that Jennifer has roused her 'person in Windhoek' to get them onto. By six thirty everything has been organized.

Auggie calls Jaco. From Owen Garrett's phone.

"We're on our way, Jaco…We'll be wheels down in Joburg at twelve thirty...I know. They don't waste time here, do they? …It means we're gonna have an extra half-day to start looking around. Asking questions." He can hear the anticipation in his own voice as clearly as he can hear the optimism in Jaco's.

Jaco hasn't been wasting time either. "I spoke to Michelle's brother, and you're in luck. The guest cottage at his home is vacant for the next few days so you can rent it. I've made a provisional booking for you for three nights. I'll text you the details. And Christiaan's cell number… Do you want me to confirm with him? Let him know you'll be there early afternoon?"

_Perfect_. Jaco had hoped he'd be able to arrange it. Christiaan du Buisson's home is conveniently situated within relatively easy reach of both Jaco's practice and the house he and Michelle had shared. Even more importantly, Michelle's brother-in-law's connection to Leeza Ford, the practice administrator, makes him a key person on their 'to be investigated' list.

Michael calls in at the room for their bags. He offers them a ride to breakfast. Once again, they decline. Instead, they walk for the last time along what Auggie has already come to think of as 'their' path. An unexpected swell of some unidentifiable emotion makes him smile as his cane touches the post now demarcating the end of the path.

_You've left your own little stamp on this place, Anderson._

It matches the mark Namibia will be leaving on him.

* * *

_Johannesburg, South Africa._

Negotiating airports with Annie is a dream. He's flown blind frequently enough to know the score – how it all works, or how it's supposed to, at any rate. But there's always an element of unpredictability. Someone, somewhere who needs to be talked through things they're supposed to know. It can be exhausting.

Annie, however, is a consummate professional. She understands the systems better than the staff, can charm anyone into doing anything for her, and it turns out, is a very quick study when it comes to learning how to use his white cane to their advantage. They're through passport control, luggage collection and out into the echoing space that is O. R. Thambo International Airport's arrivals hall within what seems like an impossibly short time.

He's struck again by how cathedral-like the airport sounds. Annie had told him, when they stopped on the way to Windhoek, that it looks that way a little, too. A huge open-plan, storeys-high, central space from which stairways, escalators and curving ramps spiral out to reach the different levels. Her description makes him think of remembered images of spiral galaxies. Cathedral-like in their own way too, he supposes.

"Wanna find us somewhere we can sit down and get a coffee?" he suggests to Annie. "I need to check in with Jaco and then liaise with Christiaan."

"Sure," she says.

She sounds preoccupied.

She's been very subdued all day, he's noted. In part it's been cover – Laura Pritchard, shocked, anxious, grieving – but Auggie has sensed there's something else going on. The fact that the quietness, distraction, distance have remained even after they've taken their leave of Michael has served to confirm it.

Once they're seated and have given their orders he tries to tease her out of it. "You do know your Mom's not really sick, right?"

Annie rewards him with a little laugh. Apologizes. "Sorry. I've been a bit out of it, haven't I?"

"Yeah, you have." He doesn't deny it. Instead he gives her his full focus. "Everything OK?"

"I'm fine," she says. "A few things on my mind is all."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Her hand touches his lightly. "No. Really, it's fine. It's nothing."

He doesn't believe it. She's deliberately forcing a smile into her voice. Brightness into her tone. _Evasive_, he thinks, but he doesn't push it.

That doesn't mean he isn't worried, though.

* * *

He uses a call to Jaco to break the tension that's suddenly, unexpectedly, there.

"It's all arranged," Jaco tells him. "Christiaan is expecting you. In fact he's offered to collect you from the Station at Rosebank if you want to take the Gautrain instead of renting a car."

Auggie doesn't hesitate. The less of a paper trail Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard can leave in South Africa, the better. "That would be great," he says. "Should I call him to arrange it?

Annie gets them to the Gautrain terminal at the airport. While they wait for the next train, Auggie phones Jaco's brother-in-law. From 'Owen Garrett's' phone.

"Christiaan?...Hi. Owen Garrett here. Jaco's friend?...Jaco says you're willing to collect us from the station?...Great!...We're just about to get onto the train, so we'll be across your way in…what? About half an hour?...Great…Thanks…See you there."

He ends the call. Turns to Annie. "He says he'll find us in the drop-off zone at the Rosebank station. Black BMW X5."

She puts a hand on his arm. "Train's coming," she tells him.

* * *

Rosebank, it is becoming increasingly apparent to Annie, is in the middle of 'Rich Johannesburg'. As the train nears the station they begin passing luxurious housing estates, exclusive shopping malls, plush hotels. The streets are tree-lined, landscaped, pristine. And there is visible security everywhere.

Once they arrive, Annie navigates them out of the station and through the doors that the signage indicates lead towards the drop-off zone. Auggie is on her arm, as before, pulling his bag, folded cane in his hand.

She can't see a car matching the description Auggie has given her, so she stops him at the curb.

"I don't see him here yet," she says.

They park their bags. She watches as he folds open his cane, abstractedly shaking it out and leaning on it. Preparing to wait.

He is so comfortable in his skin. So consistently himself. It's so at odds with the way she feels these days – like she went missing somewhere along the line.

She wishes she knew how to go back and find herself.

She shakes her head a little, dragging her thoughts back. Tears her eyes away from him.

"Hold on, here he comes, I think." She places a hand on Auggie's arm. She has spotted a gleaming black SUV entering the station parking area. It pulls into a bay a little way from where they're standing. An expensively-dressed, really good-looking, fair-haired man gets out. He looks at them, but then away, obviously dismissing them. Leans his tall frame nonchalantly against his car. Begins to scan the exit.

"Uh-oh," Annie murmurs quietly to Auggie. "I'm thinking Jaco may have omitted to tell Christiaan one or two things about us. He just looked right at us and away again."

"You mean he's not looking for a smoking hot blonde?" Auggie grins, raising an eyebrow at her.

She gives him the "Har," he is looking for.

He looks gratified. Then he turns serious. "Annie Walker," he says to her, "Jaco Bouwer is a very clever man."

"Meaning what?" He's lost her momentarily.

He feels for her arm. "Meaning," he says, turning her to face him, "that Jaco understands the power of surprise. Of putting people on the back foot. And he knows Christiaan. If he's decided not to say something there's a reason for it." He's speaking very earnestly to her. "Follow my lead, Annie. I'm gonna play the blindness up. Go along with it, OK?"

She frowns at him, but she gets it. "Misdirection?"

"Exactly." He quirks his mouth at her. "Now, go." He gestures with his head in the direction of the BMW. "Break the news to the man that we're the ones he's looking for."

* * *

Christiaan du Buisson sees her coming. She can identify the precise moment he realizes who she is. He straightens up. Glances quickly from her to Auggie and back again. Consternation crosses his chiseled features. Fleeting, but unmistakeable.

She walks purposefully up to him, pulling out all the Laura Pritchard charm she can. She holds out a hand prettily. "Are you Christiaan du Buisson?" She gives him a ravishing smile. He returns it. With interest. She adds beautiful, deep-set, blue eyes to her mental catalog of his features.

This man's a god.

He's eyeing her appreciatively, too. "I am, indeed," he says, taking her hand and shaking it slowly. He's subtly giving her the once over, she notes. A god and a player, she thinks. "I find myself sincerely hoping you are Laura Pritchard." His English South African accent carries a hint of something else in it. She guesses he may have spent time in the U.K. His smile has become a little flirtatious.

He knows full well how to use those looks.

"I am," she says, deliberately looking up at him from under her lashes. _Two can play this game_. "Thank you so much for offering to get us. Car rental is so expensive and we freelancers are always on a budget." She draws a breath. "Not to mention I'm terrified about driving on the wrong side of the road." She opens her eyes wide. "Although, I guess you'd call it the 'right' side of the road. Even though it's the left. Which makes no sense to Americans like me." She laughs.

He chuckles in response. "Miss Pritchard, maybe we can reach a compromise and just say that South Africans don't drive on the right side of the road. That way we can all agree." He flashes his beautiful, white, even-toothed smile at her. So very, very charming.

"Sounds like a deal," She smiles up into his eyes. Holds his gaze a little longer than is quite necessary. Watches his eyes flicker in response. Hooked.

_Dance your underestimation dance, Auggie. But I've just discovered moves I'm going to be able to add to yours._

"Excellent." The smile flashes again. His gaze shifts over to where Auggie is standing. His face changes. "Is that Owen?" he asks. There's a tiny bit of something in his voice. Incredulity maybe.

She decides to test him. "It is," she says, tilting her head to look up at him. "You seem surprised."

"I am, actually," he tells her. "Jaco never said anything about him being…"

_Beautiful? Brilliant?_ "…blind?" she fills in for him.

He looks at her, apparently trying to gauge her feelings. She keeps her expression neutral. "Not that that's a problem, of course," he adds hastily, "it just strikes me as an obvious thing to mention."

"I guess so," she says noncommittally, "but then again Jaco doesn't strike me as a very obvious kind of guy. I'm not surprised he and Owen get along so well, to be honest. They're both…unusual."

He gives her another appraising look, then. Maybe she's done what she hoped she'd do: create an 'us' and a 'them' – she and Christiaan as 'us' and Jaco and Auggie as 'them'.

His next question confirms that. "Jaco seemed to indicate you two are more than work colleagues?"

He frames it as a question.

She holds his gaze for a moment, and then looks away. Eyes down.

Ironically it's the truth that's going to serve them best in this situation.

"Things are…complicated between us right now," she tells him. She looks back up at him. Holds his gaze for a long while. Long enough to see the interest flare in his eyes.

Christiaan insists on moving the car to where Auggie is still patiently waiting. "It'll make things easier for him, won't it?" he comments.

Annie has to work hard to keep her face neutral. Her eyes are desperately trying to roll in her head.

* * *

They pull up directly in front of Auggie. Exit the car. Auggie tracks his movements with his head. Christiaan turns to Annie. "Can he see anything?" It's said quietly, but loudly enough for Auggie to hear. She notes the slight twitch of his lips.

Annie winces inwardly._ You can ask him yourself, you know. He's right in front of you_. But she does what Auggie wants. Looks at Christiaan and wordlessly shakes her head.

She feels like a traitor, though.

She takes Christiaan over and performs the introductions. The greeting between the two men is awkward. Auggie deliberately doesn't hold out a hand for a handshake leaving Christiaan unsure what to do with his.

_Oof. Below the belt, Auggie_. She smirks privately, amused. Auggie has his own subtle ways of dealing with annoying people.

Christiaan reddens a little and pulls his hand back. He's polite, but Annie sees the flash of annoyance in his eyes. Apparently he does not like being made to look foolish. No matter how 'innocent' the cause.

The brief car journey is filled with small talk. Which leads to big talk. To an opportunity for them.

"So, Jaco says you're working on a story about rhino poaching." Christiaan says.

Annie, seated next to him in the front, answers. "In a way," she says. "We do want to highlight the plight of the rhinos, but mostly we want to showcase some of the work that's being done to try and save them - to talk about different organizations and what they do." She pauses. "Jaco told us about your family's project while we were there, actually. We were hoping we might have a chance to talk to you about it. It sounded really interesting. Unique." She sends him a full-wattage smile. "Only if you're not too busy, that is."

"Oh, I'll make time for you." He's looking over at her, the glint in his eye adding a suggestiveness to his statement. Auggie may be in the back seat, but Christiaan's not above flirting with her literally under his nose. In fact, Annie senses the man is getting a kick out of it. "Would you be free for dinner tonight, perhaps? I'd love to take you out."

She's had enough. "Owen and I would love that. Thank you." She beams at him, enthusiastically.

His smile dims a little.

* * *

Christiaan departs for a meeting after delivering Annie, him and their luggage to the garden cottage and giving them (Annie) a quick rundown of all the security features they need to be aware of: remotes for the gate, code for the keypad, how to know if the sensors in the garden are activated and which button on the remote deactivates them; the phone number of the security company.

_Fear in direct proportion to wealth_, thinks Auggie.

"Franzina, the maid, will be here until five," Annie is told. "Everything you need should be here, but if there's something we've forgotten, please do go up to the house and ask her. I'll be back to collect you at seven thirty."

Then he's gone.

"How's it look?" He's left Auggie and Annie standing together at the door of the cottage. It sounds pretty - trickling water running through a fountain of some kind, leaves rustling in trees, birdsong.

She gives him a brief description: Large house - like a scaled down version of an English manor house -Victorian in style, pristine. Set in a formal garden – manicured green lawns (despite the dry winter), topiary, hedges, fountains, formally laid out rose beds, immaculate brick pathways. A large swimming-pool secured by a beautiful wrought iron fence. Their cottage, styled in keeping with the house, but set at the bottom of the garden, a good distance away from the main residence.

They take their luggage inside. Annie gives him a tour: kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom.

Twin beds.

She says nothing about that. No comment, no quip, nothing.

The worry from earlier rises up again. He pushes it back down.

* * *

He talks to her while they unpack.

"What's your take on this guy?" he asks her. He has a pretty good idea what she's going to say.

"Oh, you should see him, Auggie," she says. "He looks like he walked off the cover of GQ Magazine. He's immaculate. Gorgeous…"

"Annie," he advises her, "Swallow. You don't wanna drool onto his gorgeous wooden floor."

She ignores him. Or maybe she doesn't. At any rate she chooses not to let him in on her response. "He's charming, he's refined, he's clever…witty…" she continues.

"I'm really hoping there's gonna be a 'but' in here somewhere."

"But…"

"Thank God."

She laughs a little, but immediately turns serious again. "But…he uses all those things as tools, I think. I get the feeling he's the center of his own universe, Auggie. A classic narcissist. He was really getting off on flirting with me, getting a response from me, right in front of you."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." Auggie says, wryly. He straightens up and turns around to face her. He's heard the perturbation in her voice. "That's what we wanted, Annie," he says, wanting to encourage her. "It's what we want. I know it's bugging you, but you're playing him just right. Carry on, OK?"

She's silent. He suspects she may be nodding to herself. He doesn't call her on it this time though.

"It's like Fort Knox here" she says, thoughtfully, "but you know what, Auggie?" Her tone has changed. "I'm gonna take a walk in these lovely gardens and do some reconnaissance. I'm gonna figure out which rooms are which and I'm gonna figure out how we're gonna get in there." She's sounding fired up for the first time. Full of determination. He suppresses a smile, paradoxically finding himself grateful to Christiaan du Buisson. "I don't know about you, Auggie, but I want us to get into this guy's computer, tap his phone, bug his office, bug his damn bedroom…"

Auggie laughs at her. "He really got under your skin, didn't he, Walker?"

She huffs out a laugh in response. "You caught that, huh?"

"I did." He grins at her. "I'm kinda glad I'm not in his shoes, right now. You sound like a woman on a mission."

"I am," she informs him. She is moving towards him.

"You don't happen to be looking for a side-kick, by any chance?" he asks. He gives her what he hopes is an appealing smile.

She's stopped next to him. Brushes her hand against the back of his. "As a matter of fact, I am," she says. "Would you be willing to escort me on a stroll around the garden?" She says it in a wonderful parody of a genteel English accent.

There is playfulness in her voice. Lightness. Energy.

_How could anyone refuse her_?

He tucks his arm through hers. "Lead on, Madam," he says. His attempt at sounding British falls far short of hers.

She giggles.

He feigns hurt.

They exit the room with the twin beds.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 21**

* * *

_Thursday, June 26th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

Annie and Auggie's brief "walk in the garden" is sanctioned by the sweet and motherly Franzina to whom they introduce themselves. Things will definitely go less smoothly, Auggie feels, if they are mistaken for intruders and the armed response company is summoned.

Their reconnaissance reveals a possible way into the palatial prison that is their host's home.

The house, Annie confirms, is locked up tight. Bars at all the windows, alarm system with infra-red sensors in all the rooms (or all the ones Annie can see into anyway), sliding security gates at each door.

"D'you think you can get through the front door?" Auggie asks her.

"Yeah. Security gate's lock looks tricky but I think I can do it."

The alarm system is one of those that is activated or deactivated from keypads inside the house – the system allowing a brief grace period for punching in the code before the alarm is triggered. There are only two keypads Annie can see: one by the front door (Annie had noted it when they spoke to Franzina through the security gate at the front door) and one at the door between the kitchen and the garage.

"I can see that one clearly through the kitchen window," Annie informs Auggie. "Good chance I could get the code if I watched someone punch it in. I can't see the keypad at the front from the outside."

They plan a simple surveillance mission for approximately five p.m. – the end of Franzina's workday. All they need to do is make sure Christiaan du Buisson's housekeeper has to use the exit through the garage and have Annie in position to watch her enter the code.

She watches Auggie finger his watch. He informs Annie that they have approximately two and a half hours to wait.

Two and a half hours for other things, you mean. She can hear the subtext.

"Why am I thinking you have something in mind to kill the time?" she asks him as they saunter back towards the cottage.

"No idea," he says, shooting her a grin. She can tell he's enjoying himself. He asks her nonchalantly: "You didn't by any chance pack any work-out gear did you?"

They stand on the grass verge outside the gate of Christiaan du Buisson's home.

* * *

Annie has guided him to the perimeter wall adjacent to the gate. He has his palms against it - stretching out his calves, hamstrings and quads.

If the subtle grunts drifting his way are anything to go by she is doing the same.

"So, are you gonna talk me through this or not?" The words are said almost in his ear. She's obviously finished her routine and come to stand by him. He pushes himself away from the wall and turns to lean with his shoulder against it, facing her.

"You've never done this before?" He opens his eyes wide. Feigns horror. "Am I gonna be safe?"

"Course I have," she says, airily. "I go running with sexy blind guys all the time."

"Oh, really?" He laces his voice with irony.

"Why wouldn't I?" she challenges him. "I know so many of them."

"Liar."

"You hope."

"Annie Walker," he remonstrates. "I'm a spy. I know."

"All right," she capitulates. "You got me."

"And here I was thinking I could trust you." He shakes his head sadly. "Although," he says, reconsidering, "I can forgive the occasional lie if it means you calling me 'sexy'..." He sends her a grin. She gives him a whack on the back of the head.

"Hey!" he remonstrates. "Uncalled for. You're supposed to treat me with respect, you know. For all intents and purposes, I'm your boss on this mission."

She snorts.

"And for that," he tells her, "You can pass me the things I put down over there somewhere." He waves vaguely.

She sighs dramatically but brushes past him. "Here," she says. He holds out his hands. They are filled with his folded cane, his phone, earphones and armband pouch, and the belt from one of the terry-cloth robes he'd found in the bathroom while he was scouting out their new digs.

He hands the latter back to Annie. "Hang on to this for a minute?" Tucking his cane temporarily into his waist band, he straps the armband onto his upper right arm. Then he sets up his phone the way he wants it and tucks it into the pouch. He's plugged the earphones into it. Pops one of the earpieces into his right ear.

He holds out a hand again. "OK. Give me one end, and you take the other." One end of the make-shift tether is pressed into his palm. "Right – wrap it around your hand like this," he demonstrates on his own left hand. "We need about a foot of it between us." The tether tightens. He runs his free hand along it until he reaches her right hand. Checking. "Yeah. Good," he tells her. He pulls his folded cane free again, holding it in his right hand. "OK," he asks her, "ready for a trial run? Up the road a short way? You run. I'll adjust my stride to yours."

"You're assuming you're going to be able to keep up." She's baiting him.

"Oh, har." He sends her the disparaging look he feels her comment deserves. She doesn't respond. She's already moving them forward. He feels the downward incline of sloping curb and then the road under his feet.

"On three," she says. "One…two…"

They set off. "See?" he says. "Easy."

After fifty or so yards he pulls them to a halt.

"You happy?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says. There's a pause. "You look like you're running in a relay. I keep waiting for you to pass your cane on to me." She sounds amused. "Why'd you bring it? You don't trust me?"

"Asks the person who just admitted to being a liar," he retorts.

"I could just leave you here, you know."

"You could," he agrees. "Which is exactly why I brought it along." He waves the cane at her. "Also, if you drop down dead of a heart attack, or fall into a water hazard it might come in handy."

"Thanks," she says indignantly. He laughs.

"I just thought it might make things easier on the other side," he says a little more seriously. "'Be prepared'," he intones. "Scout's motto. Once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout..."

"Speaking of 'the other side'," she inquires, "where do we go from here?"

"Up this road," he informs her, "then north along the golf course, up to the park. Then we hop onto the road over the highway. That gets us into the right area." He taps the phone strapped to his shoulder. "It's all here," he says. "Leave the navigation up to me. All you need to do is make sure I don't trip up curbs, fall into manholes, run into poles, brain myself on tree branches... that kinda thing."

"Yes, sir," she says.

"I like it," he grins approvingly. "Think we can make it in twenty minutes?"

"Three miles? You are joking, right?" There is derision in her voice.

He laughs. "All right then, Speedy," he says, tightening the tether around his hand again, "let's go."

* * *

By the time Auggie tells her to turn right into the road on which Jaco's house is situated, she's breathing hard.

"I always forget how much harder it is when you're so far above sea level," he comments to her, obviously hearing her gasps. "Takes a while to acclimate." He deliberately slows her down, which is kind of him. He doesn't have the grace, however, to sound even slightly breathless himself. "OK," he says, "the house should be coming up soon on our right."

"I'll keep an eye out." Annie guides him across yet another four-way-stop style intersection – a seeming specialty of suburban Johannesburg – and onto the next block. The suburbs are tree-lined and quiet. They've had to negotiate very few cars and have passed only a handful of pedestrians, all of whom have responded to her greetings with warmth – and curious looks.

Apart from the thinness of the six-thousand-feet-above-sea-level air, it's been a lovely run - not very different to running through the leafy 'burbs of most American cities. This is certainly not stereotypical 'Africa'.

"You have arrived at your destination," Auggie informs her, in a perfect parody (she assumes) of his phone.

"So have you," she tells him, slowing to a walk and steering them off the road. "You are now standing on the driveway of number twenty-six," she pants, "and I'm letting you go." She bends over - hands on her knees - trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.

He, uncharacteristically sympathetic, doesn't mock her as she is expecting. Instead, as he waits for her to recover, he coils the chord up, pulls the earpiece out of his ear, and tucks his earphones into the pouch with his phone.

Once her lungs have stopped burning she stands up and touches him on the arm. "Let's go."

She rings the bell at the gate. They're not expecting a response – Jaco has informed them that his house-sitter has a full-time job and so is unlikely to be home during the day. That seems to be confirmed. There is no answer.

"Looks like no one's home," she tells Auggie. "I'm going to let us in." She pulls the keys Jaco gave them while they were in Namibia from the key pouch in her running pants and opens the pedestrian gate set into the wall next to the driveway gate. "We're in," she says with satisfaction.

He grins at her. "You make that sound like an achievement," he teases. "You usually do this kind of thing without keys, you know."

"Yeah, but usually I can breathe while I'm doing it." She offers him a lead again. "OK. Front door. Two steps up." She unlocks the security gate across the front door, and then the door itself. "Alarm code?" she asks Auggie.

"Two…seven…one…two…hash," he rattles off. He's opening out his cane.

She enters the code into the keypad just inside the door. There are three short beeps followed by a longer one and then all goes quiet.

"All clear," she says, pulling him inside. "Let me lock up here and then we can go and find the garage."

* * *

They find the boxes of Michelle's things in the garage just as Jaco described to them. Auggie stands to one side while Annie begins riffling through them.

"Clothes...no, we don't want that one…papers and files – I'll keep that to the side…more clothes...Ah! Here you go." She stops, having found what she's looking for. Hauls a laptop bag out of the box she's just opened. Dumps it onto the workbench next to where he's standing. "Work for you, Boss," she says. She takes his hand and places it on the bag.

"Great." He immediately finds the zipper and starts opening the bag - all business. He hauls out Michelle Bouwer's MacBook. Reaches into the pouch on his arm and pulls out first his phone and then a flash drive.

She interrupts him before he can replace his phone – catches his hand. "Can I borrow that?"

He hands the phone over.

She looks at it. "How do I turn your screen on?" she asks him.

"Triple-click the home button," he tells her, distractedly. He's plugged his earphones into the computer and has the earpieces in his ears.

She does just that. She pulls out all the documents she finds in the box she put aside. Adds to them a small journal she finds in a box filled with photos, some jewelry and other knick-knacks (nightstand drawer kinds of things). Begins the task of photographing them. Page by page.

Partway through her task Auggie interrupts her. "D'you mind helping me look around to see if there's a router somewhere?" he asks her.

"Sure." She stops what's she's doing. They go back into the house. In the office she spots a Wi-Fi router. It's connected to a phone socket but not switched on. She remedies that.

Auggie's brought Michelle's laptop along. Locates the desk and chair and sets himself up. Fingers his watch. "We've got about twenty minutes," he tells her, putting his earphones back in. "Think you can be done by then?"

"I'll do what I can. I'll come find you?"

"Yeah." He nods, but he's already somewhere else. Somewhere in his secret land of ones, zeros and Miles Davis code sequences.

She smiles to herself and leaves him to it.

Eighteen minutes later she has finished her work and packed everything back up. She enters the house to go and find him, only to discover he's on his way back to find her. They meet in the kitchen.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he replies. Crinkles his eyes at her. "I need you to come and check if I managed to successfully hide the router and laptop."

She follows him to the office. Stands with him in the doorway. Looks around at the room. "I can't see them," she tells him.

He grins at her. "Go me," he says.

"Go you," she affirms. Then she goes on a thorough hunt. She finds the router on the bookshelf behind some filing boxes and the computer nearby inside a packing box that Jaco had left there. "I think that'll work," she says.

"Good," he replies. "I can get much more off her machine if I can access it remotely. Let's hope Jaco's house-sitter leaves it all alone."

"Unless he's paranoid or a thief I doubt he'll have any reason to suspect anything," she assures him.

He nods, smiling, and then checks the time. "I think we should go," he says.

* * *

At a quarter to five Auggie stations himself on the stone garden bench under, Annie informs him, an old oak tree situated conveniently near front door and on the route between the automated wooden doors of the double garage.

Annie, if all has gone according to plan will, by the time Franzina needs to leave, have temporarily jammed the lock of the front door and be waiting at her observation post a little way back from the kitchen window. Out of sight, but with binoculars trained on the keypad that Franzina will, hopefully, use in order to set the alarm on her alternative way out.

At two minutes past five Auggie hears the click of a lock and the distinctive clang of the security gate behind the front door being slid open. This is followed by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the main door, then removed and re-inserted. The door is rattled slightly. The key is removed again. The security gate slides shut with a muffled clang. There is no sound indicating the wooden door has been opened or shut. No footsteps indicating Franzina has exited.

Auggie rapidly sends Annie a text: "HEADS UP."

Two and a half minutes later the mechanical hum and creak of a garage door opening cuts into the tranquility of the sounds of the garden.

The door stops. The motor starts again. Rapid footsteps indicate that Franzina is having to move fast in order to duck under the door before it closes. The footsteps slow. The motor stops. The door crashes a little as it finishes closing.

The footsteps come nearer and stop. "Mister Garrett! You are still here?"

Auggie smiles. "Franzina," he says. "Sawubona! No, I came back outside. The sun is too tempting."

"Hawu!" She sounds delighted. "Ukhuluma isiZulu na?" He says a brief thank you to Google. Amazing what one can learn in five minutes. She's beautifully distracted.

He laughs. "No," he confesses. "The only things I can say in Zulu are 'Hello', 'Goodbye' and 'I'm sorry, I don't know how to speak Zulu'."

She rewards him with a rich, uninhibited laugh. "That last one is too difficult."

"It is!" he agrees. "By the time I've got past the click in 'Uxolo'," he struggles over the click to demonstrate, "I don't really need to say the 'angikwazi ukukhuluma isiZulu' part. They've kinda figured that already.'

She laughs again. "You just need practice," she tells him.

"A lot of practice," he responds. "Are you on your way home?"

"Yes," she says. "I must run to get my bus. I'm late."

"Well, I better let you go, then." Auggie gives her a genuinely warm smile. "See you tomorrow. Hamba kahle."

"Sala kahle!" She is already moving towards the opening gate.

He waits until he hears the gate close and her footsteps fade before he directs Siri to send a second text on his behalf: "YOU CAN COME OUT NOW."

Annie joins him shortly thereafter on his bench.

"Success?" he inquires.

"Success," she affirms. "I have the code and I'm pretty sure I can get through the locks."

"Wanna try now?"

"Of course," she responds. "Do you always ask ridiculous questions?"

He huffs indignantly. She ignores him. Continues: "But I can't until a certain operative gives me the equipment I need."

He folds his arms. "A certain operative may need to be asked nicely," he informs her.

She adopts a pleading voice. "Auggie," She draws it out, "Please can I have some fun toys to play with?"

He capitulates, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bug similar to the one they had planted in Jaco's room at Otjindawa and two flash drives. He holds them out to her. "Bug first," he tells her. "Then I can talk you through the other stuff." He stands. Finds the path edge with his cane. "Text me when you're in. And make sure you have an escape route. We don't know when Christiaan is getting back." Then he adds: "Good luck."

He walks back towards the cottage.

* * *

When Annie's text message comes through he has a very useful workstation set up on the bar counter in the kitchen. He also has coffee.

"SORRY I TOOK SO LONG," the screen reader on his computer announces on Annie's behalf, "LOCKS WERE TRICKY."

He fires a text back. "NO PROB. READY TO TEST?"

"YES," comes her reply. "BUG IN."

He adjusts what he needs to on his side. "GO FOR IT," he types.

Annie's voice comes through his headset. "How do I sound?" she asks.

He laughs out loud, happiness stabbing his gut unexpectedly. _She remembers_. Her tone, her attitude, everything is the same.

He texts back the exact words he had said to her in Medellin almost a year before: "I DON'T KNOW. SAY SOMETHING DIRTY."

He is enveloped in the sound of her laughter.


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 22**

* * *

_Thursday, June 26th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

The front door of the cottage closes. Annie's presence arrives in the kitchen. Auggie holds out a hand. She places into it the two flash drives and the small case in which the listening device was nestled. He packs the latter into his laptop case and then holds out the two flash drives.

"Which one did you use?"

The faucet turns on and the distinctive sound of a kettle being filled assails his ears. "The blue one," she says. She has her back to him.

He clears his throat. "I'm gonna need a bit more than that, Annie."

"Oh. Yeah," she says in an off-hand way. She has turned around. "The one in your right hand," she elaborates.

He packs the other one away, smiling a little to himself. He loves the fact that on the rare occasions she slips up, she barely apologizes. It's a refreshing change from having to deal with the effusive apologies and cringing embarrassment that tends to accompany gaffes (or perceived gaffes) by other people.

He plugs the (blue, he now knows) drive into his laptop. While he waits for the data on it to upload he listens to her making tea for herself. "So, what did you find?" he asks her.

"Lots," she says, sounding pleased. "But we'll have to see if Joan can hook us up with a bit more tech, I think."

"Lots as in what?"

"Two safes, for a start. A filing cabinet full of paperwork of various kinds. A lot of photos of Christiaan du Buisson. Also not many signs of anyone female living here on a full-time basis, which I found interesting. Unless Leeza-the-girlfriend is into ascetism, I'd say she doesn't live here. There's not much in the way of women's clothing in the bedroom wardrobe, and only a few cosmetics in the bathroom. No pills in the nightstand..."

"You did look around," he remarks, impressed. "So just the one computer?"

"Yeah. Just the desktop in the office. If he has a laptop he must have it with him."

"It's a start," he says. His MacBook emits a distinctive sound, alerting him to the fact that the upload is complete. He plugs in his headphones. Dons them. Begins having a look around. "A good start," he expands. "E-mails…internet search history…accounting records…" He starts listing them as he scans the file tree. "This is gonna keep us busy enough for now."

* * *

Their 'Owen and Laura' phone rings at six thirty-five. "Christiaan du Buisson" – Voice Over mangles the name causing Annie to smile a little.

Auggie turns around, pulling his headphones down around his neck. "You take it," he tells her.

She does. "Laura speaking."

Christiaan's cultured tones ooze into her ear. "Laura! How lovely! I was expecting Owen. This is so much more pleasant."

She resists the temptation to make gagging noises. Rolls her eyes a little instead. "Do you want to speak to him?" she asks. She looks over at Auggie as she says it. He shakes his head at her.

It turns out to be unnecessary. Christiaan demurs anyway. "No, no need," he says. "I just wanted to let you know that my meeting has ended early. I'll be on my way home soon. I wondered if you'd like us to have dinner a little earlier? Perhaps I can come for you at seven?"

"That sounds good," she says. "We'll be ready by then." She so badly wants to emphasis the 'we' just to needle him again. Instead she asks sweetly: "Should we dress fancy or casual?"

"Ah," comes the reply, "I wanted to discuss that with you…"

When the call ends she disconnects and replaces the phone quite a bit harder than necessary on the counter. "Ugh," she says.

Auggie raises his eyebrows. "What?" he asks. He sounds a little amused.

"There's a great little Italian place not too far from here, he says." She mimics Christiaan's elegant tones. "'Eclectic', 'authentic', 'lovely atmosphere'…He's made a reservation there. Hopes that's OK."

"Sounds great," comments Auggie. He shrugs. "What's the problem? Why'd the phone get it?"

"Oh, he'd have liked to have taken us somewhere fancier…" She's livid. Knows she's not managing to successfully keep it completely out of her voice. He's frowning quizzically at her…"But apparently he thought pizza would be 'easier for you.'"

Auggie, damn the man, bursts out laughing.

She's drying her hair when he emerges from the bathroom. Jeans, but no shirt. He's toweling his hair.

God, but he's beautiful.

She catches herself. Catches the thought. Carefully pushes it away to somewhere safe. Switches off the dryer.

He's walked over to the wardrobe and opened it.

"I'm kinda glad Christiaan said casual," Auggie comments, pulling out a t-shirt. "I packed jeans, jeans and jeans. And some t-shirts. Definitely no designer dresses."

She laughs. "Not very prepared of you," she teases. "You're obviously not such a great Boy Scout after all."

He's examining the neckband of the t-shirt in his hands. Frowning. "Shit." he mutters.

"What?" she asks.

"Lost a tag," he tells her. He holds up the shirt. "Is this grey or black?"

"Khaki," she tells him.

He throws it at her.

Christiaan has, rather unexpectedly, chosen to bring his girlfriend along.

Two birds with one stone, Annie thinks as she slides into the back seat of Christiaan's BMW after Auggie. This will save them time.

Leeza Ford is younger than Annie had expected – twenty-six or twenty-seven to Christiaan's thirty-five, Annie guesses. That's only on close scrutiny, though - at a quick glance she seems even younger than that. She's doll-like, petite and very pretty with ringlets of blonde hair, and large brown eyes. The perfect accessory for the arresting figure that is Christiaan du Buisson. The two of them must turn heads wherever they go.

When Christiaan introduces Leeza to them, Auggie, in stark contrast to his behavior when introduced to Christiaan, reaches forward between the two front seats to offer her his hand. When Leeza takes it he adds his other hand and gives her an affectionate double-handed shake. He adds one of his irresistibly disarming crinkly-eyed smiles.

It works like a charm - classic Auggie-magic. Leeza Ford is entranced - dimpling at him, tilting her head coyly. Annie steals a glance at Christiaan. He is watching his girlfriend. Watching Auggie. His face is expressionless, but a muscle twitches slightly in his jaw. Apparently he has no qualms about moving into Owen Garrett's territory, but he's not enamored at the idea of Owen Garrett moving into his.

When Christiaan starts the car, Auggie leans back into his seat and casually reaches across to find Annie's knee. He gives it a quick double squeeze. He has a slight smile on his face – corners of his mouth turned down slowly. Satisfied with himself.

Battle has commenced.

Modo Mio really is as Christiaan described it, Annie has to give him that.

It's situated in an obscure and unexpected, almost hidden, little shopping center off a busy main road and looks very unprepossessing from the outside. In fact it doesn't look like a restaurant at all – more like a kind of canvas-covered lean-to extending out into the parking lot.

Once they duck inside, though, it reveals itself to be an intimate, warm, vibrant, beautiful little trattoria – full of people and buzz and smells. It really could have been lifted right out of some little Italian town and dropped into the heart of Joburg's Northern suburbs.

"It's always crowded," Christiaan tells them. "One usually has to book well in advance." He shoots Annie a little look. "Luckily I have connections. They were willing to squeeze us in." He flashes a white, even-toothed smile at her. She nods and smiles back, trying not to make it too obvious that her teeth are clenched at the same time.

They are led by a waiter to their table. Christiaan's not wrong about the crowdedness. They have to squeeze between tables, ask people to move their chairs (which isn't simple as the combination of music and conversational buzz in the tiny area makes it difficult to make oneself heard) and dodge around waiters. When she and Auggie have finally fought their way through Christiaan is already there – watching their slow progress impatiently. Leeza isn't yet, though. For some unfathomable reason, she disappeared towards the kitchen when they first arrived, and hasn't returned yet.

Their table is right in the center of all the bustle. "Round. Four seats at north, south, east and west." she tells Auggie. "Big enough to allow for pairing off, I think." She has to speak almost into his ear.

He smiles at that. "Where are you sitting?" She shows Auggie a chair. He begins to pull it for her.

Christiaan, on their left, as if unaware, immediately proceeds to make a great show of pulling out the chair next to that one and ushering her into it. "Here you are, Laura. Would you like to sit here?" It's done almost with a bow. He then seats himself next to her on the opposite side to where Auggie is still standing.

Auggie has said nothing, betrayed nothing. He hasn't continued to pull out the chair which, it seems, Christiaan has decided is his. Instead, he is very slowly folding his cane. He puts it in his bag. Sets the bag down on the floor to the right of his chair. Scouts the edge of the table with the back of his hand. Annie gets the distinct impression he's marking time.

Leeza arrives – announces herself with a cheery "I'm here." Immediately, wordlessly, and with a smile for her, Auggie finds the chair on his right and pulls it out for her. She smiles. Thanks him with a hand on his arm. Seats herself.

Strike, counterstrike.

The waiter arrives with menus and to take drinks orders. Christiaan takes charge. "I think wine, if everyone's all right with that?" He has raised his voice a little in order make sure he's heard. Annie tells him that would be lovely. He doesn't bother to wait for Auggie or Leeza's responses. Just asks Annie: "Red or white for you?"

"Red for me," she tells him.

"And Owen. What does he like?"

"Owen likes red too," says Auggie from over the table in a perfectly friendly way – the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes have deepened. Two high points of color appear on Christiaan's cheeks, though. He hadn't thought he'd be heard, apparently. He is not happy at having been shown up.

Christiaan retaliates by making a unilateral decision on the particular wine they will be drinking and flirting outrageously with Annie while they wait for the wine. Auggie acts as though he is completely unaware of what he is doing. Christiaan escalates the flirting. Annie – despite the somewhat unpleasant task of having to court Christiaans advances – starts to enjoy herself.

The wine arrives. Christiaan samples it. Declares it suitable. Their waiter pours it out. Annie swirls it in her glass. Sniffs it delicately. Takes a sip. "What do you think?" Christiaan asks her.

She doesn't have to lie. "Gorgeous," she tells him. She's watching Auggie and Leeza out of the corner of her eye. Auggie is speaking to their waiter as the man pours his wine. Asking him something – she catches the words 'menu' and 'braille'. The waiter answers, shaking his head. Leeza leans over and puts her hand on Auggie's arm. Says something to him to which he responds, smiling at her.

"We really know how to make wine in South Africa," Christiaan is informing her. "Personally I think we produce the world's best. And I've traveled quite a bit, so I've tasted a lot of wine." Another gleaming smile. And a wink this time. "This one's not cheap," he continues, "but it's so fabulous. I really wanted you to taste it. Actually, the estate on which it was made is owned by a close friend of mine. Beautiful place."

He trails off. He has suddenly noticed what's happening across the table.

Leeza and Auggie are sitting with their heads bent together, a menu held up in front of them. Leeza, it seems, is reading the menu to Auggie. He has moved his chair closer to hers and is leaning towards her so he can hear her clearly over the ambient noise.

It's been so brilliantly played by Auggie.

He's left Christiaan with absolutely no room to maneuver. If he says anything, or interrupts in any way, not only will he be being ill-mannered, but he will also be denying a blind man the chance to find out what's available for dinner.

Another win for Owen Garrett.

She finds herself wanting to high-five someone.

Instead she starts with an attack of her own.

She touches Christiaan's arm lightly. His gaze swings back to her. She gives him a somewhat desperate look. "I'm completely overwhelmed." She waves her hand at her menu. Tinkles a little laugh. "This all looks amazing. I have no idea what to order," she says. She looks at him with wide open eyes. "Help." She laughs. "You obviously know this place and you obviously know your food." She looks at him from under slightly lowered lashes. "What shouldn't I miss?"

And that's all it takes.

Now that he's the center of her attention again, he gives her his. Flattery will get you everywhere with this one, Annie Walker, she notes to herself. It may leave a nasty taste in her mouth, but it's so, so easily done. And he's so, so vulnerable to it.

Once their orders have been taken, Auggie interrupts her and Christiaan's conversation by tapping her on the arm. "Sorry to interrupt, Laura," he says, "but could you point me in the direction of the men's room?"

Annie pushes back her chair. "I'll come with you," she offers. Knowing that's exactly what he wants her to do. "It's an obstacle course out there." He knows that. Knows she knows he does. "Anyway, I wouldn't mind freshening up myself."

"Thanks." Auggie reaches down for his folded cane and stands up too. She offers him her elbow. Steals a glance at Christiaan. The expression on his face is again one of only partially masked disdain.

The bathrooms, conveniently for them, are accessed from the parking lot and thus hidden from the view of those inside the restaurant. This, Annie guesses, is exactly what Auggie had been hoping for. As soon as they're outside she pulls him around a corner, out of view, and stops him. Turns him to face her. "What d'you wanna talk about?" she asks him.

"What makes you think I wanna talk?" His expression is completely ingenuous. "I could, you know, actually need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, you'd have asked Leeza, then," she states. "That would have gotten Christiaan all riled up…which, you're doing really well, by the way," she adds as an aside. "He is not happy with you…" She gets back to her original point. "Anyway, if I wasn't already sure this was a ploy, that innocent face of yours would have convinced me."

"I'm wounded." He holds a hand to his heart.

"No, you're not. But you are wasting time," she remonstrates. "Get on with it."

He rolls his eyes for her benefit, but then folds his arms over his chest and turns serious. "Couple of things," he says. "Firstly, would you be able to handle the interview part of tonight on your own? Let him write me off as irrelevant. Distract him with that. I'll see what I can get out of Leeza"

"Sure," she says. "Shouldn't be a problem. I just have to bolster his ego, a lot, and he's all mine." She pauses. "What's with him bringing her along anyway? He's said about three words to her all night."

"Dunno. To distract me from you? "

"Hmm…" She's not convinced. "If his reaction every time he sees you two getting a bit close together is anything to go by, that's not it."

"Ah, well." Auggie just smiles. "Make the most of it, Laura Pritchard," he says. "You should be flattered. I hear he's gorgeous." Gives her a wink. She whacks him.

"You haven't exactly struck out, you know," she informs him. "Leeza's really beautiful."

"And she's actually a nice person. I've got it better than you." He smirks. Looks extremely smug.

She doesn't grace that with any kind of response.

"Seriously, though." he gets back to business. "Give Christiaan a way to get back at me. Jealousy, revenge – all powerful motivators. Pull him in. The more you two pair off the safer Leeza's gonna to feel about talking to me.

"You got it. Anything else, Boss?"

He rolls his eyes. "Have you managed to get a look at what kind of phone he has yet?"

"Yeah. iPhone 5 or 5s. He's got an iPad with him too."

"Perfect." He looks pleased. He unfolds his arms and begins opening out his cane. "Listen," he says. "See if you can take a selfie with him, will you? But don't send it to him yet. I need something I can hide behind to get into his phone. I reckon that should do the trick." He thumps his cane onto the ground a couple of times to lock the joints into place then holds out a hand to her. "Shall we go?"

She inserts her upper arm into his hand. "Which way?" she inquires. "Are we actually going to go to the bathrooms or do you just want to go straight back inside?"

As they return from the bathrooms, Auggie deliberately holds his cane at more of an angle than usual which has it catching on chair legs and people's feet all the way through the little restaurant. Annie, to her credit, takes it in her stride - acting as if this is all perfectly normal.

She gets him back to their seats and this time he pulls out her chair for her before Christiaan can jump to his feet and do it again. He sits then, folding up his cane as he does and tucking it back into the messenger bag at his feet. "Hello," he says to Leeza, smiling.

"Hello," she says back. "You're just in time for food." He can tell she's returning the smile.

Their starters have arrived while they've been gone – Christiaan had ordered an antipasto platter for them to share and he plays host – topping up everyone's wine, and ordering Leeza to dish up a selection for Auggie.

After a little small-talk, Annie starts subtly monopolizing Christiaan again and skilfully begins to steer their conversation towards Christiaan's conservation and charity work. Laura Pritchard apparently finds that aspect of him particularly fascinating, and she wants to write about it (and him) in her article. "Do you mind if I record this?" she asks him. Auggie hears her chair scrape as she scoots it away from him and towards Christiaan. "We have to make sure my phone catches everything," he hears her say. "I really don't want to miss a word."

Auggie and Leeza are soon cut out of the conversation almost entirely. He begins to make his own move. Turning towards her and speaking softly enough that she has to bend towards him to hear her he comments: "Christiaan and Laura seem to be getting on well."

"That's Christiaan for you," she says equally quietly but with a little laugh. "He's got a way with women. It's just how he is. Don't let it bother you."

He frowns at her. Says gravely: "Doesn't it bother you?"

"It used to, but I've become used to it now. I know he doesn't mean it. It's just how he is. I'm just happy to be the one he's chosen." She laughs again. There's a slight brittleness about it, though. Auggie's not convinced she's as OK with it as she says.

"How long have you two been together?" he asks. He turns in his seat so he's facing her more directly. Making it harder for Christiaan to accidentally overhear them, and hopefully making Leeza feel safer as a result. He certainly can't hear much of what Annie and Christiaan are talking about.

"Just over two and a half years," she answers. "Although we did go out before for about six months a long time before that. Around the time Jaco and Michelle started the practice. It's how I got the job there."

"I wanted to ask about that, actually." Auggie has finished his starter. Lays down his fork. He keeps his voice low. "It just seems weird to me that you're still working there," he admits. Pauses. "I hope I'm not being too forward," he says to her, "but here you are in a serious relationship with this super-rich boyfriend, Laura tells me you're really pretty, stylish…I dunno…Just seems like a strange choice. Surely Christiaan could find you something more glamorous?"

"I'm not sure, really," She sounds thoughtful, as if she hasn't really considered this before. "A few reasons, I suppose."

He waits. Gives her a chance to elaborate.

She does. "I'm an actress, actually," she tells him. "Jaco's is supposed to be just a secondary job."

"So you actually do have a glamorous job. I hadn't realized."

Leeza laughs. "Maybe I should be honest and say I'm an acting hopeful. There's so little work available and the competition is massive – Christiaan got the job for me so I could support myself in the early days –and I guess it's been so convenient I've stayed. It's like my version of the classic waitressing job, I suppose." She laughs lightly again. "Anyway, Christiaan has encouraged me to stay on there. It's good, stable work." She sighs a little. Is there something underneath that sigh? "Anyway, Jaco's fabulous – really flexible, so if I have an audition or get a bit of work he's very accommodating. He trusts me to get the work done. And I do."

Auggie smiles at her, crinkling his eyes. "You sound like you really enjoy it."

"I do," she says. "I love being organized and organizing things. I like feeling useful. Jaco is away a lot and so busy he never gets much time for admin and Trix – the other vet there – is lovely, but completely scatty. So I'm needed."

"You are." Auggie takes a change and scouts the table for her hand. Finds her forearm. Good enough. He puts his hand over it and squeezes gently. Lets it go again. "Jaco talks about you, you know. Says they'd be lost without you."

"He does?" There's genuine surprise in her voice. Auggie gets the feeling that Leeza Ford doesn't get to hear a lot of praise.

"He does. He said that to me just this week," Auggie tells her. "And I hadn't even met you yet."

Annie and Christiaan must really be in their own little world, because she seems to be willing to risk telling Auggie a lot. She speaks confidentially to him, soft enough to be inaudible to the everyone else underneath all the restaurant noise. But she speaks. It's as if Leeza has been waiting for someone to really listen to her for a long, long while.

By the end of the evening Auggie has found out all about Christiaan's and Leeza's relationship: the seriousness of it ("he's going to ask me to marry soon, but Christiaan's just waiting for a few things to settle"), the nature of it ("we don't live together because Christiaan doesn't think that's right until we're engaged") and the quality of it ("he's not a bad guy, really. He can be a bit cross sometimes, things upset him, you know. But he always makes up to me afterwards. Says sorry. Tells me he loves me. Takes me somewhere nice, or buys me something.")

There's something in her tone that worries Auggie. A lot. "Leeza," he says. He's very earnest. "Has he ever hit you?" He's said it carefully - wanting to be discreet, wanting to make sure they are not overheard. Wanting her to be able to answer honestly.

"No!" It's said in a shocked whisper. "Nothing like that. He just shouts. Says awful things to me, about me, sometimes when he's upset. But he really doesn't mean them."

Auggie sits back a little. Psychological abuse is bad enough.

Across the table he can hear Annie doing her job – flirting, flattering, fluffing Christiaan's ego. They have moved on from rhinos to Christiaan's job (something involving large amounts of money, investments and wheeler-dealing), to world travel (Christiaan seems to have travelled everywhere and met people of importance on every trip), to cars ("A sixty-seven Corvette? Really?...So unusual to find a woman who knows her cars…who 'gets' them...you're a bit wasted on someone like Owen, aren't you?")

Auggie notes that comments like that last one tend to drift across the table more than any other kind of talk. The fact that Owen and Leeza are enjoying each other's company is apparently not going entirely unnoticed.

It's not an unpleasant evening for Auggie. In addition to his informative, and enjoyable, conversation with Leeza, the food really is excellent - he's ordered a gourmet-style pizza (so as not to disillusion Christiaan). So is the wine. He says as much to Leeza. "Oh," she says, "I'll pass that on. My cousin is one of the two managers here. That's why we always get a table." Ah. So that's 'Christiaan's 'connection'. Not his after all, but Leeza's, although he's quite willing to take the credit. Auggie suspects he has probably discerned the reason Leeza was invited to come along.

Somewhere during the evening he hears Annie's instruction to Christiaan to "Smile for the camera." There is laughter from the other side of the table. "No," says Annie's voice. "You blinked. Try again." Attagirl. He's going to get his piggyback ride onto Christiaan du Buisson's cell phone. She's a wonder, his Annie.

After dinner, as Annie walks him to the car, Christiaan finally having decided to reclaim Leeza, he realizes he is feeling satisfied on several levels. Mission-wise they've gained a lot. Subterfuge-wise, the same. But there's more than that – he feels as though he's won a skirmish. A battle of wits. Christiaan du Buisson may not know it yet, but Annie does. And that's all that counts.

In the back seat of the car Annie bumps a hand surreptitiously against his thigh. He feels for it – discovers she is discreetly giving him the thumbs up.

He gives her hand a quick pat, and then leans over between the two front seats. "Thank you for a really great evening," he says.

He means every word.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 23**

* * *

_Thursday June 26th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

She's so tired. She says as much to Auggie as she collapses onto the small couch in the living-room area of the cottage.

"You have two options," he tells her mercilessly, "coffee or a twenty minute power-nap. We have a long night ahead of us."

"I know, I know," she sighs. "Then it's coffee, I guess. If I lie down now I'm not going to wake up again."

"Excellent choice. Make it a big pot, will you?" He grins at her. His super-charming, innocently angelic grin. She sighs even more heavily. A protest this time. Gets back up again and heads into the kitchen, deliberately jostling him as she brushes past him. He is sitting at his computer at the counter that separates the kitchen and living areas.

She crosses over to the opposite counter and gets the coffee brewing. Comes back to lean over Auggie's shoulder. "Whatcha doing?" she asks.

"Just tweaking something," he tells her. "In fact," he pulls down his headphones, "just finished tweaking something." He holds out his hand to her. "Where's that photo you took?"

She crosses back to the sofa where she'd dumped her purse on arrival and retrieves her iPad from inside it back over to Auggie. He connects it to his MacBook. She goes to check the progress of the coffee.

He calls her back. "Are these them?" he asks.

She looks across. He's in the way of the screen. She can't see. "Lean to your left," she says. He does. Three photos are displayed side by side on the screen. "The second and third are," she says. "The first one too, actually, but Christiaan blinked."

"So which one are we gonna send?"

"Hmm…" She ponders that briefly. Looks carefully. "In the first one," she tells him modestly, "I look great and he looks OK. In the second, I look OK but he looks amazing."

Auggie tilts up the corners of his mouth. "So I'm guessing the second, then," he says.

He dons his earphones again, cutting her out. Turning back around, she finishes making their coffee. She walks over with his mug and puts it on the counter.

"Two o'clock," she says.

"Huh?" He hits a key on his keyboard and looks up.

"Coffee," she repeats. "Two o'clock."

"Oh." He tracks a hand across the counter, finds it. "Thanks." Doesn't pick it up, though. Repositions his headphones. "Almost done here," he tells her. He attacks his keyboard again.

Annie watches him across the little kitchen. Leans back against the counter, smiling a little to herself - fascinated, as always, by how completely engrossed he is. Auggie in the Auggie-zone.

She sips her coffee and mulls over her earlier conversation with Christiaan, trying to sort out the relevant from the irrelevant - to find patterns, connections. Auggie, when he's done with…whatever it is he's doing…is going to want a report.

So, for that matter, is she.

It's only a few minutes later that her ruminations are interrupted by a satisfied-sounding final smack of a key and Auggie's "There. That should do it."

She looks up. Auggie is locating his coffee. He grabs it and takes a sip, turning around on his bar stool as he does so. "Where are you, Miss Walker?"

"Here."

He swings his head round to face her.

"You," he informs her smugly, "are in the presence of genius." He is a searching behind him with his free hand for her iPad. He finds it, grabs it and holds it out to her.

"Not news to me," she replies, taking it from him, "but I'm assuming you have a particular reason for reminding me now."

"I do." He has turned around to face her fully now, small of his back pressed against the counter, his coffee mug cradled in both hands. "I think it's time you sent that photo to Christiaan."

She does so, attaching the photo to a text message saying: "Not often that work is so much fun. Thanks for everything."

"Done," she tells him. "What did I do?"

"We," he says, "just installed a roving bug onto his phone – which means that it has now become a covert listening device for our benefit." He looks so pleased with himself. "It's gonna cause his battery to drain fast, though. Fortunately, however, he will be notified of an iOS upgrade to fix that."

"Will it?" She's playing straight man now. Feeding him his lines.

"No. It won't. Instead it will install the August Anderson version of FinFisher." He announces that as if he's introducing the leading act at some kind of magic show. She can almost hear the drum roll and the 'Ta-da'.

She hates to kill the build-up, but she has to. "I have no idea what you just said. Could you try English?"

"In English," he says slowly, with exaggerated patience, "it will give us access to his phone, his Apple ID, his iTunes and any other devices he connects with that. Technological sleight of hand."

"August Anderson," she announces. "Wizard extraordinaire."

He acknowledges that with a grin and a bow.

* * *

They arm themselves with fresh coffee and move back to the living room. She has informed him that she has revived and has reassured him that she does not need to torture her backside with a hard barstool all night in order to stay awake.

The direction that her satisfied flop and sigh come to him from indicates that he will be taking the armchair for the night – Annie having commandeered the couch.

While he's repositioning the coffee table, relocating his equipment and setting up his new makeshift workstation the way he wants it, she gives him an overview of her interview with Christiaan.

"The charity centers around raising funds in order to provide specific anti-poaching training to park rangers and security guards – hence the name 'RhinoForce.' They do the advertising, publicity events, campaigning and so on, but they don't do the actual training. They outsource that."

"Outsource to who?"

"Some company in Hoedspruit. Near the Kruger Park. I tried to get a specific name out of him but he was evasive. I didn't want to push it - it would make me look suspicious. I figured you could probably find out, anyway."

He looks up at her from where he's setting his laptop on the coffee table. "Yeah, I probably can," he tells her, nonchalantly. Waves the computer's power supply cable at her. "Can you see somewhere I can plug this in?"

"Yeah. Wall behind you. Just to the right of your chair," she says. "Low down. Shin level." He turns round to try and locate the socket. Does. Plugs the cable in. She continues. "That evasiveness made me suspicious, actually. Made me think how convenient it would be to have access to trainee rhino guards if you were in league with poachers - find guys you can pay off to give you information on locations of rhinos they're guarding…"

It's a good point. He'll prioritize looking for that company. He tells Annie as much.

"Christiaan himself?" he moves the conversation on. "What's your take on him?"

"Risk taker, definitely. Likes to live on the edge."She's giving him the salient points. Not wasting time. "He's into property development – big contracts - high investment with hopes of high returns. The kind of thing where if it goes belly-up you can end up in deep shit." She pauses. "And his lifestyle isn't cheap. Expensive clothes, expensive cars, expensive vacations…and expensive friends. He mixes with the 'cool' crowd – I didn't know too many of the people he mentioned, but it was clear he was name-dropping. Lots of South African celebs, I'm guessing. So he has an image to maintain."

"How much of all that is true, though, d'you think? How many of those people does he actually know?"

"Hmm…hard to tell. He's such an egotist, center of his own universe, full of himself. I tell you what, Auggie, he could tick more than a few criteria boxes in the DSM-5 – definitely a narcissist and some sociopathic tendencies too, I suspect…So yeah, maybe he's a wannabe. Maybe not. A pretty face can get you far in those kinds of circles." She's mulling it over. Processing out loud. Voice full of thought.

"Fantasy or fact, though," he comments, "he's gonna be spending big money to maintain the image. I'll have a hunt around tonight, but we're probably going to have to try and get a financial audit on him, I think. Let's talk to Joan. See what she can organize. Anything else?"

"Not much that feels important, really," she says. "I think he knows how to use his charm to get what he wants. He's a manipulator, though, so he's probably not above using other means to keep what he wants…threats, blackmail…"

The workstation is set up, now. He sits down and leans back into the armchair. Gets comfortable. "I think he's doing that with Leeza," he says to Annie. "He's got an emotional hold on her, but he's also very cleverly made her dependent on him money-wise too. She leaves him, all she's got is her job at Jaco's. And Christiaan got that job for her. He can easily make her believe he can get her fired. Especially if she's been skimming M99 from the practice for him."

"You think she has?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "I do." He wishes he didn't. He really likes her. A genuinely sweet person. But she's gotten herself all tangled up with the wrong guy. "She's vulnerable to him. I get the impression he messes her around a lot, but she spent a lot of time tonight defending him to me…" He can feel his mouth has pulled into a grim line. "He's stringing her along with promises of marriage…I think she believes him because she's desperate to…" He stops as a thought hits him. "Maybe there's also a bit of ambition there, too," he admits. He feels sad about that for some reason. "She wants to be an actress, he moves in those circles…" He shrugs. "Maybe he's made promises to her about that too…"

"Kinda sad," says Annie.

Yeah.

They set to work – Auggie rifling briefly through Michelle's computer, Annie starting to go through all the photos of Michelle's paperwork that he's moved from his phone onto her iPad for her.

Twenty minutes into his explorations the bug in Annie planted in the house feeds back a noise to him. Christiaan is in his office.

He doesn't, though, as Auggie is hoping, switch on his desktop.

He does something even better. He makes a phone-call.

It is picked up by both Christiaan's now-activated iPhone microphone and the listening device in the office. Auggie mutes the latter one. If Christiaan decides to move around, the roving bug will be better. He pulls out his earphones, allowing the sound to emit through the speakers of his laptop. Calls Annie over.

The conversation is in Afrikaans but Annie does her best – giving him what she's managing to pick up.

"...He's saying something about tonight, I think…dinner…"

"…'I don't think there's a problem'…" She's translated that directly for him. "…'Yes, I'm sure…the man is blind'…"

An aside: "He's laughing about that, Auggie." She hates him for that. He can tell. Her voice is full of outrage. He smiles.

"...Now he's talking about me…I didn't ask any suspicious questions, apparently…"

"…Oh, and I fell for him, he says…" He imagines she's accompanying that statement with a raised eyebrow - the contempt in her voice certainly seems to indicate that.

"…he says we're flying back to America on Saturday…before everything...something or other. Didn't get that."

_Not any more, we aren't_. Auggie has made an on-the-spot, executive decision.

"…'Yes…in my safe…I'll bring them up with me on the weekend.'…" She's translating directly again.

"…'Jaco's coming on Sunday, as we arranged'…"

_And so are the blind guy and the unsuspicious blonde_.

"…'Don't worry'…" She stops abruptly. "Oh, Auggie, he just called whoever it was 'Liefie'. That means 'Darling'."

And that's it. The phone call ends with affectionate greetings and a promise to see whomever's on the other end on Saturday.

"Well," says Annie. "I think we've found our guy."

_The bastard_, thinks Auggie. Poor _Leeza_.

Christiaan at least does one thing for Auggie, though. When Leeza comes to the door to plead with him: "Baby, I'm really sorry. Please don't be cross. Come to bed now," he switches on his desktop, syncs his phone and starts downloading the new 'iOS upgrade' before he follows her upstairs.

They have direction, now. They put in a call to Langley with a shopping list of requests: an audit on Christiaan; one or two pieces of equipment; a proper translation of the phone call.

Langley, in return, lets them know they'll be sending them the protocol for their meeting the next day with the young operative from the Joburg station.

Auggie leaves Michelle's computer for now, concentrating on Christiaan's. Looking for names – a name really; evidence of financial trouble; anything that might make the picture clearer. Scouring the internet, too, for connections.

He finds something. "The security company is called King Security," he tells Annie "And I'm thinking Christiaan is doing more than just outsourcing work to them. It's owned by a woman named Karola King – widow of Ewald King - and now owner of a string of her late husband's companies: the security company, a funeral services company, a slaughterhouse…They share an accountant…Karola and Christiaan…their businesses do…and there are connections…certain things needed for tax purposes and business registrations…they leave ghost trails…"

"You think Karola is 'Liefie'?"

"Maybe. It's possible." He sighs. "I've just got nothing here in the way of hard evidence yet. Christiaan's been very careful. There's nothing on his desktop of a personal nature and he's kept everything very separate here, business and charity-wise." He's a little frustrated by that, but there's still so much more to go through. More to come.

"Maybe you'll find something on his phone? His iPad?" Annie must have picked up on his frustration. He smiles at her attempt to cheer him up.

"Maybe," he agrees. "I'll drop a line to Joan, too. Get them to look into this Karola woman for us. See if they can scare up something."

* * *

They top up on coffee. Auggie dons headphones again. Resumes digging. Finds more ghostly trails. A picture is definitely starting to emerge.

It's Annie who produces the next interruption. "Auggie," she says. "I think I've found something."

He pauses what he's doing. Pulls his headphones off, laying them down on the table next to his laptop. Giving her his full attention.

"Remember that little notebook I told you about? That I found with Michelle's things?"

"Yeah?" He does.

"Looks like she used it as a kind of memo book – names of shops, products, little quotes, gift lists, shopping lists, that kind of thing…but on one of the pages near the end there was just a list of dates – no notes with them – stretching back about six months before she died…"

"OK." He nods, encouraging her to go on. Presuming there's something coming.

"Well," she continues: "I just found a bunch of copies of invoices from a company called Big Five Pharmaceuticals. All matching those dates." She pauses. "Those invoices were stamped 'copy', Auggie. She'd specifically requested copies. Wanna guess what they were invoices for?"

Auggie's already there. "M99."

"Yep." She's not done yet. Auggie can hear it. Can hear the anticipation under the word.

"What else, Walker?" He grins at her.

"There were copies of prescriptions, too. Written by Jaco. For M99. All dated for those dates or the day before. All for four bottles. "

"That's a lot of M99," he comments.

"I know." She's fired up now. "I think she found something, Auggie. I think she found something just before she died. "

"You think it got her killed?"

"Let's just say I think the timing's suspicious."

He agrees with her.

"I think we'd better not wait till Saturday to get into Jaco's practice system," he says to her. "I'll call him in the morning. See if he can get me in there first thing. Before we rendezvous with Joburg."

"OK," she says. "Sounds good." She's caught herself mid-yawn.

Suddenly he's feeling very tired too. He leans back into the chair. Checks the time. Three thirteen a.m. "Dunno about you, Walker, but I'm done," he stretches out, hands behind his head. Yawns. "Wanna get a couple of hours before we call Jaco?"

"Oh, yeah." She sounds very, very relieved. He laughs at her.

They're both so exhausted the question of the twin beds doesn't even come up. They each collapse into their own.

Auggie falls asleep trying to decide whether what he's feeling is relief or disappointment.


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 24**

* * *

_Friday June 27th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa._

Auggie calls Jaco at six thirty a.m. South African time (which makes it five thirty Jaco's time). He feels a little bad, but suspects the man will forgive him.

It turns out Jaco is already awake. "Owen." His voice is warm. Auggie smiles in response. It's great to hear him again.

Auggie gives him a quick overview of what they've found. Of what he needs.

"None of that should be a problem," he says to Auggie. "Leeza only comes in this afternoon so I'll ask Theresa to sort you out this morning. Can you get there just after eight? I'll get back to you about the rest of it."

His words are pragmatic but despite the man's efforts to keep his tone that way there is a deep undercurrent of sorrow.

It is clear to Auggie that Jaco understands the implications of what has been said.

Annie and Auggie take the half-hour walk to Jaco's practice. It is five minutes past eight when Annie walks him to the front entrance of the veterinary hospital.

"Two steps up, security gate across the door, doorbell on the doorframe on the right," she says. She reaches up to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm off," she says. "See you later?"

"Yep." He winks at her. "Be good."

Annie is planning on walking across to Jaco and Michelle's house. She needs to disconnect and remove Michelle's laptop from where Auggie had hidden it and return it to the garage. She also needs to retrieve the hard copies of the invoices, prescriptions and notebook.

Auggie walks. Finds the steps, the gate. The bell. Rings it. There's a buzz. A woman's voice emerges from inside. "You can just push the gate," she says. He does. Walks forward and to the left in the direction from which her voice had come. His cane finds the base of a counter. His hand finds the top.

"Good morning," she says, brightly. "How can I help you?"

"Hi." He smiles. "I'm Owen Garrett. Jaco's friend. I've come to look at the computers for him?"

"Oh. Yes." The receptionist sounds as if she has solved a personal mystery. "Doctor Purdon said you were coming. But she's with a patient now. Do you want to sit down and wait for her? There are chairs behind you."

"Thanks." He makes a one-eighty. Three or so paces across the floor he finds the edge of a plastic chair - the same kind found in waiting rooms the world over.

He hasn't been inside a veterinary clinic for a long time. There's an odd mix of sound and smell. Muffled dog barks and the rattling of metal cages come from somewhere deeper inside the building. The squawking and scratching of a parrot (or something similar) diffuses through the waiting-room. Patient or resident? The smell of disinfectant mixes with the somewhat more comfortable, savory smell of pet food.

A door opens followed by panting, the clicking of claws on tile and a vibrant, deep, woman's voice. "Just keep that bucket on his head, Mrs. Jackson. Otherwise he's going to bite those stitches out…and then you'll have to come visit me again, won't you, Harvey?" The voice has changed. Affectionate baby-talk. There's the sound of vigorous petting, and responsive tail-thumping. Auggie can't help but grin.

"Doctor Bouwer's friend is here, Doctor Purdon." It's the receptionist's again.

"Aha, Nthabi! So he is." Footsteps approach. They stop. "Hello," she says. She's short. Her voice isn't coming from very far above him at all - and he's still sitting down. It's a warm voice - full of some kind of secret amusement. "You're Owen." It's a statement.

"Yes," he says. He stands. Holds out a hand. Smiles at her. "Hi."

His hand is shaken vigorously by a strong but very petite hand. Jaco's assistant's big voice belies her tiny frame. There's a pause. He gets the distinct impression he's being scrutinized.

She delivers her verdict. "Bloody hell," she says, drawing it out. "You're gorgeous."

He laughs.

* * *

Doctor Theresa Purdon is a loud, irreverent, refreshing delight. She is also in the process of escorting him to the practice office.

"You can call me Trix," she informs him. "If you call me Theresa I very likely won't respond. It's not that I don't like it, but more that I forget that it's my name. No one except Jaco manages to get me to remember. I think that's because he's my boss. I'd probably answer if he called me Prudence."

"Trix?" He's curious. "I haven't heard 'Theresa' shortened like that before."

"Oh, it's not short for 'Theresa'. It's short for Trixie-Pixie." She sighs. "I'm afraid that's what happens when you're five foot nothing tall, half a foot wide and have freckles and ears that stick out. You never outgrow your childhood nickname. I've been Trixie-Pixie for as long as I remember. I'm going to be a little wrinkled, grey Trixie-Pixie."

"Cute," he says.

"Thanks," she says promptly. "So are you." She's as quick as a whip with the repartee, this one. He loves it.

"We're here." She stops. Opens a door. "Oh, buggerty-buggerty-bugger," she says with emphasis. She doesn't move forward. Instead she removes his hand from her elbow and places it on a door frame. "Here," she instructs. "Wait. Or you'll end up with a broken neck. I've left crap everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

There's a whirlwind of paper shuffling, drawers opening and closing and other unidentifiable bangs, thumps and scrapes. "I am the most accomplished of slobs," she says. "I trash Leeza's beautiful office within twenty minutes every morning. How she puts up with me I don't know. Maybe because I'm so good at it it's almost a superpower."

"If it's a talent, you should be proud of it," he tells her. He's rather enjoying the sound of the chaos.

"I am," she tells him. "Usually," she amends. "Just not when I have to park men in doorways because of it. It doesn't create a good impression."

The tornado subsides. Trix returns. Gives him her arm

"Right. You'll probably just about be able to escape with your life now. Here's the chair." She places her hand on it so he can locate it. "That Bloody Machine, as I fondly call it, is on the desk in front of you. I can supply coffee and brief moments of entertainment. The rest is your baby. I fix living things, break mechanical ones. That's just a fact of life. Cosmic balance and all that. You really don't want me to come too close. Just take my word for it." She has barely taken a breath, but now she pauses.

Auggie takes a seat and aims a grin at her. He doesn't have to tilt his head up very far. "Coffee would be great," he says. She vanishes.

He pulls out a small pen drive which he inserts into a USB port – a quick plug-in-and-go screen-reader that will get him through the installation of his more comprehensive software. He finds another open USB port into which he plugs an external hard drive. Then he finds the port for his headphones. He begins to get to work.

Trix returns accompanied by the aroma of really good coffee.

He pulls his headphones down around his neck. "Smells good." He makes appreciative noises.

"I know,' she says. "I made it a condition of my employment that decent coffee must be available at all times. Failure constitutes breach of contract."

"A woman after my own heart."

She pushes a giant mug against his hand and hops up onto the desk next to him.

"Have screen-reader will travel?" she asks.

He raises an eyebrow. Sends her a questioning look.

"My brother's best mate at University was blind," she explains, "so I know the score. I swear to you, I'm convinced the two of them had figured out a way to get screen-readers to audio-describe porn by the time they'd finished putting their computer science lectures to good use. "

"Never underestimate a geek," Auggie comments. Sips his coffee.

"Amen to that," she agrees with conviction. There's a brief pause. He takes another sip of his coffee.

"So," she asks. "Are you taken?"

He's momentarily taken aback. Recovers. Shoots her a grin. "Why?" he returns, "Are you offering?"

"Oh, God. Definitely!" She doesn't hesitate. "I am not stupid."

He laughs. Makes a regretful face. "I am kinda taken, though," he tells her.

"That's just weird," she informs him. "How can you be 'kind of' taken?"

He's not quite sure how to respond to that, so he doesn't immediately.

"Oh, shit," she says. "I just got a bit personal, didn't I?" She pauses, but not quite long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. "I'm sorry. I'm from the Eastern Cape," she explains. "We are born completely without impulse control down there. I can fake it for about as long as a consult. But no longer than that. You got the real me, I'm afraid."

"Hey. Stop." He holds up his hands, trying to stem the flow. "The only reason I didn't say anything is because I'm trying to figure out how to answer your question. Really. I have no problem with 'personal'. And I kinda like the real you."

"Oh, good," she says. "You either like it or you don't, I suppose. I don't generally give a shit either way. I is what I is. But it's probably not a good idea to piss off your boss's friends."

She's not going to let him off the hook, though. "So, what does 'kind of taken' mean?"

"I guess," he says, "that it means I'm hoping to be taken."

"Ah." She sounds like she's mulling over that. "You're not officially taken, but your heart is?"

She's hit the nail on the head. "Yeah," he says. "That."

"Hmm." She sounds thoughtful. "In that case, I guess I'm kind of taken too." She sighs. Puts a hand on his arm. "But before you ask, I'm not going to elaborate on that. So don't bother."

He doesn't, but when he begins to ask her about Jaco - about what he's like to work for, about her impressions of him - he's pretty sure she's unwittingly elaborating after all.

* * *

After a bit more conversation her mug hits the desk. "Much as I adore you," she declares, "I can only take so long on a coffee break. I am after all supposed to be working for my salary."

"Yeah, I'd better get on with this too," he says, waving at the computer on the desk.

"So, you're good here?" she asks. "I have about a hundred thousand kitties and doggies lined up in the back there waiting for me to wave my magic wand over them and turn them from 'hes' and 'shes' into 'its'. I'm going to be gone for a while."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Right-o, then. If you need anything just ask Nthabi at reception." She hops off the desk and heads for the door. Stops.

"Oh!" She's facing again. "I just had a thought. You definitely need to know that the bathroom's left out of the door into the corridor, second door to your left. Because that coffee's going to start talking soon. If you hit the room with all the little boxes and bottles in it you've gone too far. "

He laughs. "Thanks," he says.

It's not long before he's found what he needs to. He copies the evidence onto that external hard drive he's brought along. Leans back in the chair. Thinks.

Stands up. Does some scouting of the office. Carefully. He hasn't forgotten Trix's tornado.

He gives Annie a call.

"How far are you?" he asks. "Almost done?"

"Yeah. On my way back to you now, actually. I was just going to pop into the store on the way, though, pick up a few things."

"Could you come here first? Shop on the way to the station afterwards?" he asks. "I'm pretty much done, but I just need your help with something while everyone else is still out of the way."

"Sure," she says.

Ten minutes later the doorbell sounds and shortly thereafter Annie's with him, asking him: "What do you need?"

"I need you to look through the filing drawers. Look for the originals of those invoices. See if you can find them."

Annie does. All three drawers open. All three drawers close.

"Everything's there," Annie tells him, "perfectly organized," a beat, "except those invoices."

They go back to reception. Auggie asks Nthabi if they can go back and say goodbye to Trix.

Annie follows the receptionist's directions and gets them there.

"Hey." The happy, resonant voice comes at him from inside the room. "Are you finished doing your nerd thing?"

"I am." He smiles at her. "Just wanted to say goodbye before we left."

"'We' being?..."

"Laura," says Annie.

"Trix, this is Laura," says Auggie, doing his duty. "Laura, this is Trix."

"Ah. Laura, is it?" says Trix in a thoughtful voice. "Hmm…Yes. I can see why, Owen." She continues: "Sorry I can't shake, Laura," she says, cheerfully, voice back to normal. "A wave's going to have to do, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to be keeping sterile, and also I'm covered in gore."

Annie laughs. "A wave is fine," she says,

They say goodbye.

They go.

"She's fun," says Annie.

"She is," agrees Auggie.

"What did she mean by 'I can see why'?"

Auggie shrugs.

"No clue," he lies.


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 25

* * *

_Friday June 27th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

A few minutes into their walk from Jaco's practice towards the Rosebank Station, Auggie feels the phone in his pocket vibrate. He stops. Releases Annie's arm. Pulling his earpiece out and fitting it in his ear, he answers the call.

It's Joan.

"Auggie? Can you talk? I have some of that information you were asking for."

"Yeah. I'm good. Go ahead." He mouths the word "Joan" to Annie, sensing her gaze on him. She immediately pulls him gently to the side – presumably out of the way of potentially passing pedestrians. Message received. He sends her a little smile and then redirects his focus fully onto what Joan is saying.

The call ends. He disconnects.

"You look…satisfied," Annie informs him.

"I am." He smiles a little.

"You gonna tell me?" she asks.

"Yeah." He checks the time. Looks for Annie's arm. Finds it. Nudges her forward. "But not here."

His watch has informed him they have more than an hour to kill before they need to start heading for their meet. He seizes the opportunity to use her obvious curiosity to his advantage. "I'm in danger of digesting myself." He pauses briefly, considering. "And lapsing into a caffeine-deprivation coma," he self-diagnoses, producing a pained expression for Annie's benefit. "I need food and I need coffee. Just tell me there's somewhere around here we can get both."

Annie chuckles. "Auggie," she says to him, to his great relief, "there's at least a square mile of shopping mall right next to the station."

"There is?"

"There is," she reassures him. "The prognosis is good. You're gonna live."

He heaves a sigh of relief. "OK," he says. "Feed me and I'll tell you everything."

She laughs.

* * *

She finds them somewhere bustling. Where they can talk. A combination bakery, deli and coffee shop, she informs him. It's perfect. Full of delicious smells, and more importantly, noisy people. The loudest places are often, ironically, the most private.

Their waiter is with them as soon as they sit down. They order coffee. She shifts her chair closer to his.

"What d'you want?" she asks. "Breakfast or light lunch?"

"Breakfast." He's been thinking longingly about breakfast since eight a.m. He hasn't made the mental shift to lunch yet.

"Fine," she says. "Here are your options." She lists them.

He makes his decision. Their enthusiastic waiter arrives back with their coffees. Takes their food orders.

"He's gone," she says. "We're good. Now spill."

He starts. "They've been digging down on Christiaan," he says. "Looking at his finances, his business dealings. They've found a couple of pretty interesting things…"

"Hold on." Annie interrupts him with a hand on his forearm. Their waiter arrives and places things on their table. Auggie sips his coffee.

The waiter leaves again. Auggie raises an eyebrow towards Annie.

"Knives, forks, sauces," elaborates Annie impatiently. Nudges him. "Continue." Demanding.

Auggie tries. He really does. But Annie keeps having to stop him as their zealous waiter arrives again and again. With their food. To collect their empty cups. To offer them refills. To bring refills. To check if 'everything' is 'OK.'

"You sure Christiaan's not onto us?" he asks her eventually, frustrated. "I swear this guy's a spy."

She laughs. "Stop it," she reprimands, swatting him on the hand. "He's a diligent waiter." She pauses. He waits patiently. Then: "He's got three new tables now," she tells him, relief in her voice. "I think we're in the clear."

He heaves a sigh. "OK," he says. "Trying again."

He does.

Succeeds.

The financial audit of Christiaan du Buisson, he tells her, has produced some interesting results.

A financial crash three years previously – some risky property investments that had gone belly-up in spectacular style – left him in dire straits. Then suddenly, on the brink of a declaration of bankruptcy, rescue arrived in the form of a major investment in hisbusiness from a mysterious source.

Some detailed digging had revealed that the source was in fact a dummy corporation acting as a front for an enterprise operating several businesses - a funeral services chain; a slaughterhouse and meat-packaging plant; and a security firm known as King Security.

"Interesting," she comments slowly. Sounds thoughtful.

""Very," he agrees. "But wait. It gets better."

"Really?" She's so completely on board. He suspects she understands now why he was looking 'so…satisfied' - concrete evidence to back up a hunch can do that.

"Really." He loves it that she's sounding so engaged. "They went digging into Karola King's company and discovered that just over two and a half years ago a new director was appointed to the board of King Enterprises. A certain Jean-Paul Du Buisson."

Annie is confused. "The older brother? The one who was cut off? The one in the photos Jaco found?"

"No," says Auggie, relishing the twist. "This Jean-Paul has a South African passport and identification number. Jean-Paul-the-brother renounced his South African citizenship five years ago in order to gain British citizenship."

There's a brief silence as she digests that.

"You think Christiaan stole his brother's identity?" Attagirl. She's on the same page as he is. It feels good.

"We'll need confirmation, but yeah, l do."

"Wow." She sits back for a moment - processing. Leans forward again. "And Karola King?"

"They're still digging. Joan's hoping to get back to us with something on her soon."

The waiter arrives to clear their plates. They ask for the bill.

Auggie remembers something. "Oh. One more thing," he tells Annie. "Three weeks before Michelle Bouwer's murder, the real British Jean-Paul du Buisson's passport was used to enter South Africa."

"That's when the photos Jaco found were taken."

"Yeah. I imagine so. Jaco did say he thought they'd been taken shortly before her death." Auggie lays his thoughts out for her. "My guess? Someone suspected Michelle was digging. Set up surveillance of some sort. Saw her meeting with Jean Paul…"

"And jumped to the conclusion she'd found out about the identity theft?" She sounds disturbed. "Put a hit out on her?"

He nods grimly. "It's possible," he says thoughtfully.

Their waiter arrives for the final time with the bill. They pay in cash.

Auggie checks the time, pushes his chair back and begins to rise.

"Come, Miss Walker," he says. "It's time."

* * *

They walk back towards the station.

"Got that flower?" he asks. He is laughing at her. No doubt fully aware she is still unhappy about some aspects of what lies ahead.

Langley had indeed, as promised, forwarded them the protocol for their meeting with the agent from the Johannesburg station. It had arrived during the two hours and fifteen minutes that Annie and Auggie had been asleep.

Auggie, on opening it, had developed an odd expression on his face.

"What?" she'd asked, watching him. He'd said nothing – merely removed his headphones and motioned towards his screen with his head. His expression had been carefully neutral. The kind of neutral that, when it appeared on Auggie's face, meant a punchline was coming.

She'd had to bend over to read the words on his screen. "You're kidding me."

"Nope." A quirk of his lips.

"'Sightseeing bus'?" she'd quoted, incredulous. "'Observation deck of the Carlton Centre'?" She'd felt indignant. "D'you think they even read your file?"

"Maybe they were trying to avoid clichés," he'd said, not quite managing to hold back the brewing laughter.

"Auggie," she'd countered, "I have to wear a flower in my hair. If that's not a cliché I don't know what is." Her annoyance had not damped down Auggie's amusement much at all. In fact it had seemed to be amplify it.

She'd rolled her eyes. Given up.

_It doesn't bother him. It shouldn't bother me._

_But it does._

She pulls herself back. Answers his question about the flower lightly. "Nearly didn't have a flower," she says. "That's why I thought I might need to go shopping. There's not much around at this time of year except aloe spikes and Bird-of-Paradise flowers."

Auggie snorts. "Bird of Paradise?" he asks. "As in big, orange, spiky? Those ones."

"Yep." Auggie's knowledge apparently extends to floristry as well.

"Can't imagine that working very well."

"Um…No," she agrees. Laughs. Stops. "Luckily I found this outside someone's house." She puts her free hand up to the knot she twisted her hair into that morning and pulls out the rose she plucked from a brave little rosebush outside someone's gate. Brushes it against the fingers wrapped around her arm. "Here. Careful. Smell it. It's gorgeous."

He lets her go and takes the flower. Fingers it gently, gives it a sniff and returns it. "I'm guessing that's better than an aloe spike, then?" he asks, quirking his lips.

"A little," she laughs. She pins the rose back into her hair, jostling him slightly as she does.

"There," she says. "All pretty again."

His expression softens.

Something inside her twists.

He tucks his arm through hers.

* * *

A minute into their train ride Auggie's phone rings again.

It's Calder Michaels this time.

"Anderson? Where are you now?" It's accusatory. As if Calder expects them to be anywhere except where they should be.

"On a train between Rosebank and Park Station," Auggie says smugly – imagining Calder's disappointment at not being able to give him a roasting.

"I have some intel on Karola King for you. Can you listen?" Does Calder sound a little deflated? The thought makes Auggie grin internally.

"Sure," he tells Calder. "Shoot." He gives the man his full attention.

He is still on the phone when the train slows. Auggie feels Annie's tap on his hand. He stands, shoulders his backpack and adjusts his grip on his cane. She gives him her arm.

Calder is still speaking. Auggie listens intently. Files away the details. Responds with non-committal 'yeahs', 'uh-huhs' and 'mm-hms', knowing Calder won't expect more.

Annie steers them off the train and to a quiet spot, presumably somewhere on the platform, out of the way, where he and Calder can finish their – mostly one-sided – conversation.

"You got all that?" Calder asks. He's apparently done spouting facts.

"Yeah. All good." It's more than anything else he's given Calder as a response so far. Anyone eavesdropping on their conversation will have gleaned nothing.

Neither will Annie.

Auggie finds his lips quirking at the thought of that. She's no doubt bursting with curiosity again. And this time she's going to have to wait a lot longer for the intel.

"So you're on your way to meet up with Joburg?" Calder asks as he winds the call down.

Checking one more time, thinks Auggie, amused.

"Yeah, we are."

"Excellent." Is that relief Auggie is detecting? Calder continues. "Joan said to tell you that they managed to rustle up everything on your list except the sweep drive."

Auggie's not particularly fazed by that news. "Not a biggie," he tells Calder. "It was a nice-to-have. We can work around it."

"Good," Calder says. "You'll get the rest from the guy today. Also," he adds, "Joan's sending some cash - you need to leave as little of a paper trail as you can."

"We've managed not to leave any so far," Auggie says, rolling his eyes a little. Does Calder think we're rookies? "But tell Joan thanks." He is grateful. They are running low. A buffer will be welcome.

Calder grunts an acknowledgement.

There's a pregnant pause. "Please," their boss enunciates slowly, with emphasis, in that particular tone of distrust he seems to reserve for Auggie and Annie alone, "do not get yourselves mugged on the way home." He stops. "Or do anything else irresponsible." He seems to have felt it particularly necessary to add that corollary.

Auggie grins. Disconnects.

"Calder," he says to Annie.

"I gathered," she says. "What'd he give you?"

He sends her a smile. "I'll give you the rundown as soon as possible, I promise."

He holds out a hand. Waits for her arm.

_There it is_.

He wraps his hand around it.

"Let's go catch a bus," he suggests.

* * *

It fascinates Auggie how, despite so much of the essential noise being the same, each city he visits has such a unique sound.

Maybe 'unique feel' would be a better way to put it, because it goes deeper than just sound – there's a mysterious 'something else' that underpins each city's identity.

Downtown Johannesburg has its share of the expected city sounds: traffic, like in any bustling city; people; echoes off buildings; music from shops, vehicles, street musicians.

There's a distinct rhythmic undercurrent here though. Vehicles pass them, or stop beside them, filled with the thump-thump-thump of sub-woofers pumping out bass beats. Horns blare in complex patterns.

When he leans over to ask about the latter Annie tells him he's hearing the taxis.

"Hundreds of them," she tells him, "full of passengers. And I mean full. They pack the passengers in." She pauses as if she's looking out again so she can give him a good description. "Mostly white Toyota minibuses," she elaborates. "Various states of repair. Some falling to pieces, some brand new. Most somewhere in between."

"It sounds chaotic."

"Looks it," she confirms. "They honk for passengers and then just cut across from wherever to pick them up. Right in front of everyone else. Utter mayhem." She sounds highly entertained.

"You mean they drive like you?" He sends her a wink.

She doesn't respond. It's as if he hadn't spoken at all. Doesn't give him the whack or elbow in the ribs he's expecting. Oh, well. Instead she leans away from him – probably looking over the side of the bus. Distracted. "There's some kind of complicated hand signal code." Her voice is directed away from him. "For summoning taxis. Really complicated. And shouting out of taxi windows." She pauses. "Ten plus people per taxi," she informs him. "Wonder how they all get where they're going?"

Auggie leans over to speak quietly in her ear. "I think I'm beginning to see why the protocol people went for the bus," he says.

Annie laughs. "Me too." She's leaned back towards him, mimicking his murmuring. He can smell that damn rose in her hair. "There's a good chance we'd have ended up in Pretoria or Soweto if we'd tried catching one of those."

"And deaf," winces Auggie as yet another vehicle thumps past them. "Wonder if you get to have a say about the music the driver blares at you."

"Doubt it," muses Annie. "Ten other people and their opinions in there too? Democratic nightmare."

There's energy on the sidewalks. Kids are shouting up to the passengers on the bus: "Wel-come to Jo-han-nes-burg" or "Take a photo," in loud sing-song voices, and then laughing uproariously. Hawkers are marketing their goods as they do the world over, in a huge variety of languages – some recognizable to him, some uniquely Southern African.

Mostly, though, the shouting assailing his ears seems to be non-business-related. South Africans, on the whole, he is realizing, are not quiet. Not private. Everyday conversation is held at full volume. The vendors have serious competition. There is a lot of enthusiastic yelling.

A lot of laughter.

Up here, on the top of this bus, it is hard to believe that this city knows any sorrow at all.

And yet, he knows it bears deep scars. And under the laughter and the music there is the shadow of considerable suffering and violence.

This is no sedate, established, urban landscape. This is a young, emerging metropolis – dynamic, messy, unpredictable, exuberant, dangerous.

Alive.

And that is its sound.


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER 26**

* * *

_Friday June 27th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

They remain in their seats when the 'Hop On – Hop Off' bus reaches the next stop. "Ghandi Square," Annie informs him. Two people jostle him as they come forward past his seat, obviously choosing to disembark. A short while later the scrape of feet coming up the stairwell, and the chattering of voices, indicate that the bus has also collected a few passengers at Ghandi Square. Annie and Auggie's turn to 'hop off' will come at the next stop – Carlton Centre.

The bus pulls away into the traffic, immersing itself once again into the throbbing current of the city. Auggie leans back, eyes closed. Listening.

"We're here." Annie startles him out of his reverie, jostling him slightly with her upper arm. He suspects she is removing the earpieces of her headset – the ones provided for them on the bus giving them access to 'commentary in twelve different languages and an extra English channel for kids'. An added perk on the Jo'burg CitySightseeing Bus. Auggie is still finding the whole 'Sightseeing' thing amusing. Annie, he is fully aware, is not. It intrigues him. It's rare that they don't see the funny side of something together.

Annie straightens up and stands up as the bus slows to a halt. He follows suit, slipping the backpack he has with him (his equivalent of the flower in Annie's hair) onto both shoulders. He holds out a hand for Annie's elbow.

He's completely in her hands for the moment – something he generally tends to avoid whenever possible (although, admittedly, less so with Annie). But he's made an executive decision to keep his cane in the backpack for now. Never mind Bird-of-Paradise flowers, he has no doubt a white cane on a CitySightseeing bus will draw attention. And they're not looking for any kind of attention right now.

They step off the bus together. He doesn't think they have company.

"Just us?" he asks Annie.

"Just us," she confirms, walking them a short way and then stopping. "It's…" She seems to be looking for a way to describe it for him. "…Not very 'touristy'," is what she decides on.

He grins. "What's that mean?"

"Hm…" she reflects. "…It's 'real' downtown, you know - people on the go, no one standing around looking." She pauses. "And not pretty – plain concrete jungle. The building itself is a square, brown block."

He pulls the corners of his mouth down a little and shrugs – a 'doesn't bother me,' gesture. "Why're we stopped?" he asks.

"We're waiting. Someone has to come to take us up," she says.

"Really? We can't just go ahead on our own?"

"Apparently it's confusing in there," she says. "That's what the audio-commentary on the bus said." She nudges him with her shoulder. "Which you'd know if you'd actually been listening to it."

"I decided to leave the conventional tourist thing to you," he remarks, "though, I have to admit I wasn't sure you had it in you." He grins at her.

She huffs. "Someone has to look the part," she says pointedly.

"Easy for you to say," he retorts. "You don't have to choose. If I plug the headphones in I may as well be sitting in a room with a fan in my face."

She refuses to grant him any leeway. "You could at least stick an earpiece in one ear. Try blending in a little."

"I am blending," he informs her. Holds out both hands. "Look, Ma, no cane."

"Yeah, I noticed," she says. She's back to that unhappy tone of voice.

He needs to deal with this. "Hey," he says gently. "You still upset about this protocol? You don't need to be. Really. Not on my account."

She sighs. "I know," she admits. "I know." She repeats it sounding annoyed with herself. Makes a frustrated sound in her throat. "I'll get over it." She stops speaking for a moment and then draws another breath. "It's just sloppy," she rants. "And sloppiness puts people in danger."

She has a point. But compared to most missions, this one's not exactly high on the 'life-threateningly dangerous' list. They're essentially playing detective (albeit unconventionally and with more sophisticated equipment) - not spy-versus-terrorist, or spy-versus-spy. Their targets are undoubtedly bad guys – Calder's call has confirmed that in his mind - but they're unsophisticated, untrained and unsuspicious. To be honest, all this secrecy and protocol is unnecessary as far as he's concerned. A direct phone call to their contact to arrange a meeting would have been perfectly safe.

Not that he minds, though. He's enjoying himself. Way too much – an echo of Barcelona pops unbidden into his mind. He smiles to himself.

"What?" she asks, immediately

She's obviously been watching him.

He takes the easy way out. Leaves Barcelona out of it. _Why do I keep going back there_? Shares his thoughts on the tameness of their mission. "On the scale of dangerous field work, it's about even with Data-Tech," he concludes.

She laughs a little. "I guess you're right," she concedes, sounding lighter.

* * *

A moment later she taps him on the arm. "Our tour guide's coming," she informs him.

Before he can search for her elbow she links her arm through his.

"The whole mall is built underground," their guide tells them. "It used to be open in the middle but they put a roof on later because of the summer storms."

She tries to elaborate for Auggie. "Like a giant multi-storey amphitheatre," she says. She reconsiders as they walk deeper into it. "No. More like a three-story labyrinth."

It's randomly laid out, crammed with people and signposting is non-existent. She understands the insistence on bus passengers waiting for an escort. Wonders seriously if they've ever lost any passengers in the maze.

"Sounds about as chaotic as downtown Joburg," Auggie says. He's having to raise his voice a little so she can hear him.

"Bedlam," she confirms.

They are taken on a winding route through crowded corridors and down an extremely narrow escalator until they reach the ticket office for the observation deck. Annie pays the thirty rand for their tickets and their guide escorts them through a set of glass doors to the elevator. "I'll come up to look for you ten minutes before the next bus gets here," he says as the elevator opens for them. They step in. Annie thanks him through the closing doors.

They have the small space to themselves. "Express elevator" she informs Auggie, reading the labels on the elevator buttons. "We only get three choices: 'Top of Africa', 'Upper Shopping Level' or 'Service Level'."

"'Top of Africa'?" One eyebrow quirks.

"I know," she laughs. She presses the top button. "Maybe overselling things a little? For the fiftieth floor of a building?"

"Careful, Miss Walker," he cautions. "You sound very American."

Her brain has registered something. "I'm pretty sure the braille doesn't say 'Top of Africa', though," she comments, having a look at the raised dots she'd felt under her fingers. "I mean, I know you get contracted braille, but all that in three characters?"

"Here, let me have a look." He holds out a hand. She takes it – shows him the button.

"'Fifty'," he reads, sounding affronted. "You guys get 'Top of Africa' and we get 'Fifty'.' He pulls a disgusted face. "Discrimination right there." He pauses. "You know, Walker," he drawls thoughtfully, "You really should've learned some braille by now, being a language expert and all. You've hung around with me long enough."

"Braille is code," she argues, defending herself. "Your department, not mine."

The elevator doors open. Auggie's hand is on her elbow. He squeezes her arm as she guides him forward. "Ready for this?" he asks.

"Flower in hair? Check," she mutters for his benefit. "Johannesburg CitySightseeing Bus brochure? Check. Overly eager guy with backpack? Check."

She stops. They've emerged on one side of the viewing deck – windows stretching the full width of the building in front of them, the city sprawling below – almost as if at their feet. "We're facing South," she orients him. "Café to our right. No one there right now."

She takes them left. To the southwest corner. There she stops, placing his hand on the waist-high window ledge next to them.

"It's pretty shabby," she tells him. "Broken floor tiles, scuffed paint…"

"I'm guessing people don't really come up here to look at the floor tiles and paint, though." He crinkles his eyes at her. "Good view?"

"Yeah." She leans forward, hands on the ledge, forehead almost against the glass. Peers down first, and then out over the smoggy panorama spreading south in front of her. Skyline, mine dumps, patches of dry brown veld. Railway lines, traffic, brightly colored washing drying on the roofs of apartment buildings.

Further down, to the right of where they're standing, the windows are almost floor-to-ceiling with low ledges wide enough to curl up on. One could sit and stare down for hours at the endlessly fascinating mishmash of architecture, landscape and activity.

She'd be sorely tempted in other circumstances.

Next to her, Auggie is facing the other way – yin to her yang – his back to the view she is absorbing.

She turns away from Johannesburg to look at him.

He is leaning back, relaxed, legs crossed at the ankles, backpack at his feet. He is propped up on his elbows - the small of his back pressed against the window ledge. The winter sun is pouring through the window onto him – a soft natural backlight.

She can't look away.

Doesn't want to.

The light has caught him from his right, accentuating the deep ceases alongside his mouth, the square angle of his jaw, the deep set of his dark eyes. The lines around them. He's breathtaking. Literally. And so stunningly unaware of it.

And she doesn't know how to tell him that.

He turns. Looks towards her. Crinkles those eyes at her once again. She breathes out carefully. He's obviously become aware she's looking at him.

She wonders again how he does that. Wonders if he's even aware how he does it.

There's probably some good neuroscientific explanation, involving subliminal perception and sensory processing.

Right now, though, right in this moment, it feels almost spiritual.

His face changes. Becomes serious again, eyes squinting a little. He nods slightly in the direction of the western corridor. "We're about to have company," he says quietly.

She looks over her shoulder and sees him – a young man, medium height, athletic build - dressed in black t-shirt and dark jeans. Wearing a black baseball cap. He has stopped a way down from them to peer through one of the view-finders mounted at intervals along the windows, but Annie is not unaware of his interest in her and Auggie.

The baseball cap (yet another protocol cliché) indicates that this may well be their contact. Whether or not he makes the next move – the one that is his to make if he is their guy – will confirm or contradict that.

Auggie turns around next to her to face the same way she is facing. Says nothing, just keeps her company as they wait.

From the corner of her eye she sees the man glance over at them. He begins to walk in their direction. Annie adjusts her purse, still looking out at the view. She deliberately allows the brochure loosely tucked into the top of it to drop onto the floor. Immediately the young man walks forward and bends over to pick it up.

Auggie remains relaxed, looking unconcerned – unaware, even - but she knows he has tuned in with complete focus. She surreptitiously brushes his hand – an attempt to let him know that their imminent company is the company. He barely moves, merely lowers his eyelids slowly and gives an almost imperceptible nod. Message received.

Annie turns her head. The man in the baseball cap looks up at her and smiles. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, she inventories. Something about his face hints at a Middle Eastern ancestor not too far back in his heritage.

She smiles back.

"You dropped this," the young man says, handing it to her.

"Oh." She feigns surprise. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." He nods and walks away toward the café.

Annie looks at the brochure in her hand. It looks identical to the one she dropped, but it's not. This one has a ring drawn around 'Stop 8' and handwritten next to that is 'Cramer's Coffee. Main Street. 3pm.'

Their contact has disappeared.

Annie puts a hand on Auggie's forearm. "Time to go," she tells him.

He bends down to reach for his backpack. Stands again. Takes the arm she offers him. "Where are we going?" he inquires.

"Out for coffee," she answers.

* * *

Stop Six is a ten-minute 'stretch-your-legs-and-avail-yourself-of-the-amenities' stop at the Gold Reef City Casino and Theme Park.

"Wanna get off the bus?" she asks him.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he responds quietly.

She eyes the three fountains on the hotel forecourt. "Yeah," she says.

Auggie starts to stand. She rises with him.

The bus driver is washing the windscreen of his bus. Two other passengers have gone over the fountain on the other side of the casino forecourt. The handful other passengers and the tour guide have gone into the casino complex.

She chooses the largest fountain, the centerpiece of which is a hideous group of life-sized, leaping, glittering gold impalas. She describes them to him, morbidly fascinated .

He grins. "Casino," he comments. "Tacky. Universal rule."

They sit on the edge of the fountain, on the side furthest away from the bus. Surrounded by the sound of falling water, Auggie tells her about the call from Calder.

"He had info for us on Karola King." He's put the backpack down at his feet and is sitting relaxed on the low stone ledge, leaning on his hands. He has his face turned towards Annie as he lays it all out for her.

Karola King has an interesting history, he tells her. An ambitious young woman, she'd risen quickly up the ranks in the bank where she had been employed – starting at the very bottom of the ladder - but it seemed to have hit a ceiling in her mid-twenties.

She'd then changed course, and, after leaving the bank, had met and married Ewald King – a wealthy, much older, businessman from her hometown in Mpumalanga.

They'd been married for about eight years when Ewald had lapsed into a diabetic coma and died on Christmas Day 2011. Karola was five months pregnant with their first child.

She had taken over the company almost immediately and King Enterprises was thriving under her hand. Way beyond all expectations. Or so the books would seem to indicate.

"But the timing," says Annie.

"Yeah. Exactly," agrees Auggie, nodding slowly. "So much happening around December 2011, January 2012 – Christiaan's rescue from bankruptcy, Karola's husband's death…" He pauses. "…The renewal of the relationship between Christiaan and Leeza."

"I'd forgotten about that."

"I hadn't." Auggie's face is grim again.

She's silent for a bit. "Diabetic coma can be induced," she says.

"Yeah." He nods. Sounds pensive. He seems to know where she's going. In all likelihood he's been there already.

"You think she killed the father of her unborn baby?" It's incomprehensible. But if there's anything Annie has learnt in this job, is that humans are more than capable of doing incomprehensible things.

"Let's not jump the gun," he cautions. "There's still a lot of digging to do."

"Yeah, I know," she says. "It's getting muddy, though." There's a tremor in her voice. She feels the recently familiar press of anxiety in her chest.

But not because she's feeling afraid. Because she's feeling something else. A stirring. Anticipation. A thrill of excitement at the challenge. Like a memory trying to surface.

A memory she's been trying to suppress.

It calls to her – as dangerous as an addiction.

And she knows that the last time she answered that call the repercussions had been unbearable.

Auggie has sensed something. Slides a hand across their smooth concrete seat towards her. Finds her hand. Covers it with his own.

An attempt at reassurance.

"If there's one person I know," he says, "who can walk through mud and come out clean on the other side, it's you, Annie Walker." He presses her hand gently. "It's gonna be OK."

She wants to believe him.

And as she looks up into his familiar face, just for that moment, she does.

_It's gonna be OK_.


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER 27**

* * *

_Friday June 27th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

It's about twenty minutes before their scheduled meet that they step off the bus at Stop 8. Or so Auggie's watch tells him. No other passengers leave with them.

"Let's just stop here a moment." Annie has put an arm out to impede his progress. "I want to check where we are on the map." Rustling ensues from her direction. Auggie takes the opportunity to shrug off the backpack he has slung over a shoulder and find his cane.

He unfolds it, taps it on the ground to lock the joints in place and then waits.

The rustling next to him stops. A zipper closes. The map is back in Annie's purse.

"You ready?" The familiar tap of the back of her hand against his comes. He finds her elbow.

"Depends. You know where we are yet?"

She ignores him.

They round a corner, walk a short way, and then turn another corner.

The world changes.

They're still in downtown Johannesburg, but apparently it's a whole different version.

It's quiet. Sequestered. There is no traffic where they are walking and traffic noise from the outside is muffled as if they're in some kind of tunnel. Tall buildings, if the returning echoes of their footfalls and his cane are anything to go by, form the tunnel walls. Main Street it seems, ironically, is a pedestrian-only zone. They're walking on cobbles. There are trees, too, on either side of them – a gently rustling avenue of them with what sounds like grasses whispering underneath them.

A few people walk by them, mostly in groups – talking amongst themselves. They all speak English - educated English – but there is a mix of accents, local and international. Cigarette smoke drifts across from a building to their right. Voices carry down towards him over the top of it. Work colleagues on a smoke break, he guesses, probably on the entry steps of a building.

Gentle trickling indicates a water feature somewhere.

And the tantalizing smell of coffee wafts towards them.

"I'm guessing not just anyone has offices around here," he comments to Annie. "Kinda has an 'old money' feel about it."

"Old mining money," she confirms. "We passed the headquarters of Anglo American a block or so back, and coming up on our left is BHP Billiton." She steers them diagonally to the left. "This whole area is a kind of outdoor mining museum, actually," she continues. "Pieces of old mining equipment set up like sculptures on the sidewalks. We're actually walking around full sized mining headgear right here." So that's what they'd just bypassed.

"Impressed, by the way," she informs him, reaching over to pat the hand he has on her arm "I'm not even going to bother asking how you got 'old money', though. I've heard the sixth-sense-fifth-sense joke before."

He grins. She knows him well. 'How did you do that' questions generally do get the sixth-sense-fifth-sense answer. It's an Auggie Anderson rule and he makes few exceptions. "Fair enough," he says.

"Coffee shop's just ahead, by the way," Annie says. He's worked that out, too. The smell of coffee - good coffee - is almost on top of them. No great powers of deduction needed for this one. "We still have ten minutes," she goes on. "D'you wanna walk a bit more or go in?"

"Go in. Definitely,' he says. "Standing out here smelling that? Torture."

She laughs. "Thought you'd say that," she tells him.

* * *

Cramer's is a little like a South African version of Starbucks (a chain which, surprisingly, hasn't yet made it to the country). There's a serving counter and a cluster of small tables - some occupied - tucked into a corner. A long booth seat curves along the wall around the tables. A couple of sofas are arranged around a low coffee table near the counter; a long bar counter runs along the length of the front display window, and there are traditional café tables under umbrellas on the pavement outside. Seating for all kinds of meetings.

She gives Auggie an overview. "Inside tables are pretty close together, and some are occupied, sofas are right under the barista's nose…"

"So I'm guessing outside?"

"Your powers of deduction…" she says it with as much irony in her voice as she can, "astound me."

He makes a nonchalant face. "So they should," he informs her. He slips his hand through the crook of her arm, linking arms with her. "Coffee," he says.

They go to the counter. Order. Auggie asks the barista for directions to the bathroom.

"Want me to wait for you?" Annie asks him.

"No need," he says. "Go find a table. I'll get someone to point me in the right direction."

When their coffee's ready Annie takes it outside and selects a table for them. She seats herself – choosing a chair where she can bask in the sun a little. Sips her coffee.

Less than a minute later the young man from the Top of Africa, sans baseball cap this time, pulls out the seat next to hers, puts his backpack on the ground and sits.

"Hi," he says, looking at her with interest. "We meet again." He holds out his hand towards her for a shake, very serious. "I'm Jonathan Stone."

She suppresses a smile at his air of gravity. His newness shows. "Annie Walker." They shake hands.

"Where's your partner?" he asks her – looking at the two cups of coffee on the table.

"Bathroom," she replies, nodding towards the interior. She turns to look properly and spots Auggie just emerging from the corridor down which he'd disappeared earlier. "Here he comes now, actually. Can I get him to grab a coffee or something for you while he's there?"

Their contact smiles for the first time. "That'd be great. Thanks." Enthusiastic. Very. A fellow coffee-addict friend for Auggie. "A large cappuccino would be good." He's a little distracted now, squinting through the window, obviously looking to see if he can spot Auggie.

Annie knows the moment he does. It's the first time Jonathan has seen Auggie with his cane, she realizes. His face registers the shock. It's fleeting but unmistakeable.

_He really didn't know_, thinks Annie, mentally shaking her head.

She stands and goes inside. Finds Auggie at the counter. "Hey," she says, touching him on the shoulder. "Jonathan's already here. I said you'd get him a coffee. I'm just gonna go freshen up too."

By the time the man behind the counter announces that Jonathan's cappuccino is ready, Annie's back. Auggie goes outside with the coffee and Annie to join Jonathan at the spot Annie's chosen for them.

"Here's the table," Annie says. "Let me take that." He assumes she means the coffee so he hands it over. She takes it and, in turn, shows Auggie the remaining chair. The scrape of a second chair at his two o'clock indicates that she's pulled out hers. "One cappuccino grande," she announces. It's plunked down on the table.

"Looks great. Thank you." The man is quietly-spoken, his accent carrying a hint of the oval tones of Boston, and he is seated at Auggie's nine o'clock.

Auggie, having placed the backpack he's been carrying on the floor, folds his cane, pulls out his seat and sits down with a sigh of contentment. He finds his (now desperately wanted) coffee, sets his cane down on the table, and smiles towards their contact.

"Jonathan?" he says, reaching out a hand (the one that can't wait to get around that hot cup of caffeine), "Auggie Anderson."

The hand is shaken slowly. Almost meditatively. He gets the distinct impression he is being scrutinized. Braces himself for one of those inevitable questions.

Jonathan surprises him. "I think I've heard about you," he says slowly. "I didn't believe you existed though. I thought you were a fabrication." He stops. "Sorry," he says, sounding a little embarrassed, "that sounded odd."

Auggie chuckles and picks up his coffee. _Finally_. "I've been called a lot of things," he admits, "but I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've been called a 'fabrication'." He draws a long sip from the steaming cup in his hand. He's curious. "Heard about me how?" he asks. He knows he's pretty infamous at Langley itself, but hadn't thought his reputation had spread enough that a rookie agent in a far-flung station would have heard of him.

Especially considering he's DPD.

"Garrett Davis?" It's phrased as a question. A kind of 'do you know him?' question. Still disbelieving.

Ah. "Garrett Davis," Auggie echoes. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while. How d'you know him?"

"He was here when I first got here. Transferred out soon after, though. London, I think. Lucky."

"Well connected," amends Auggie. "I'm surprised he was ever stationed here, actually. Must have been some career-boosting reason." He smiles to himself, remembering. "Is he still so full of himself?"

Jonathan laughs outright at that. "Obnoxious, you mean? Yeah. Pretty much." Auggie laughs too. There'd been no hesitation on Agent Stone's part at all. "And full of stories," Jonathan continues. "If you had to believe everything he said - all the missions he's been on, the wins – he'd have had to have started at ten. And he'd be DCS by now. Or at least running his own station." He stops for a moment - his released breath indicating it was for a hit of caffeine. "That's why I didn't believe you were real. You were just another story. The blind guy in Barcelona. When he brought down a Salafist group?"

Auggie really laughs at that. "Well, 'blind guy' is accurate, and 'Barcelona', but the rest is…uh…yeah…fairy tale."

"Do I know about this?" Annie sounds…bemused?

"A little before your time, Walker," he says, in explanation. "Joan sent me out to chaperone him on a kinda delicate mission. Worried he'd screw things up. I was his handler." He stops, genuinely puzzled. Remembering something. He can feel his forehead creasing into a frown. "Didn't I tell you in Barcelona?" He's wondering if he imagined the conversation.

"You said you'd been there before on a mission," she confirms, much to his relief. He's not delusional after all. There's dawning realization in her voice. "I just assumed it was…" she tails off.

He's got it now. "Before Iraq?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He thinks back. To himself standing in Joan's office. Realizing the potential opportunity in front of him. So terrified of the hope. Trying hard to supress it. But at the same time desperately wanting to sell the possibility to Joan.

"First time Joan risked pulling me out from behind a desk," he tells Annie. He feels the familiar affection for their boss's boss causing the corners of his mouth to lift. Joan. Always his champion.

"And here you are," she says. "Still coming out from behind desks." She nudges his foot under the table with hers.

"And here I am," he grins.

* * *

They get down to business quickly. Auggie is feeling the urgency of what they're doing more and more – wants to drive things forward faster. Jonathan Stone is young and eager enough to not want to waste time either. He's a quick study, Auggie discovers - an information sponge with good, natural deductive ability. His questions are pertinent and he makes connections easily. Someone to watch, Auggie finds himself thinking. His attitude is good, too. He's keen to learn, willing to listen. Gonna be a helluva lot more pleasant to work with than his buddy was, Auggie decides.

They bring Jonathan up to speed on the Jaco situation. Giving him the highlights.

"So, we've identified two targets, now," Auggie says to Jonathan, "Christiaan Du Buisson, Jaco's brother-in-law, and a woman named Karola King, owner of a security firm called King Security. Her business gives guards and rangers specialized anti-poaching training for Du Buisson's charity Rhino Watch." He pauses. "They seem to be connected in other ways too. For now, unless we discover something new, our focus is getting intel on them. Ideally we wanna find an in. Leverage to turn one or both of them. Work our way up the chain."

"You want to keep them in play?" Jonathan sounds unsure.

"Possibly." Auggie says it slowly. He's picked up something in the younger man's voice. "You sound like you might have a problem with that," he probes.

The young man sighs. Takes a moment before he answers. "I don't know." Hesitant. "I know that might be for the best, but…" He stops.

"But what?" Auggie prompts.

Jonathan Stone clears his throat. "But I was hoping we'd maybe be able to give my source a win on this case. She's been so hemmed in, and this would really boost her career." Once he's gotten over the 'but' the words tumble out as if pre-rehearsed.

_Interesting_, thinks Auggie.

"Tell us about her," he says.

"Her name is Sindisiwe Ncube." Jonathan begins. Auggie doesn't fail to notice how effortlessly he manages the click in her surname. He's had practice. "Sindi. She's a police officer working in the relatively new special Anti-Poaching task force of the South African Police. She's been there just over eighteen months."

"How did you meet?"

"I went looking for her," Jonathan says. "Well, not her specifically, but someone doing anti-poaching work I could talk to. Did some digging, and she looked she had good potential so I asked if I could try cultivate her as a potential source."

"And it worked." Auggie's impressed. This young man has more than a little initiative

"Yeah."

Annie speaks for the first time. "Why her in particular?" she asks. Auggie smiles inwardly. He had just been about to ask the same question. Partners.

"Because of her history." Jonathan doesn't hesitate. "Her dad is a game ranger – started out doing grunt work on a couple of reserves in KwaZulu-Natal and worked his way up the ladder – evening classes, training courses, all of that kind of thing. He's now a Section Ranger in the Kruger National Park. A pretty high level job."

"So she grew up surrounded by it?" Annie surmises.

"Yes. She's lived on or near wildlife preserves her whole life. She studied conservation at University and worked as a ranger herself for a few years, but when the police started scouting for people with conservation backgrounds for anti-poaching work, she moved over. Did her stint at police college and then applied to join the task force."

"So a true believer, then" Auggie comments. "They make the best sources." He's impressed. "You did good work."

"Thanks." Jonathan's voice is warm. "Sindi's passionate about this stuff. She'll do whatever she thinks will help raise awareness of what's going on – put pressure on the right people for action. And she's willing to risk a lot, especially when it comes to working against corruption and bureaucracy. I've had to preach caution on a number of occasions when she's wanted to blow things wide open."

Annie makes an approving sound. Auggie wonders if it's approval of Jonathan Stone and his preaching of caution, or Sindi. Sindisiwe Ncube sounds a lot like Annie in many ways. "How'd you work her?" she asks.

"I attended an eco-tourism and conservation expo. I'd heard the police were going to have an anti-poaching information booth." He laughs a little. "Had to attend all four days in the end, because she only did a shift on the last day. But I started up a conversation, focused on a couple of topics she'd written articles on for various conservation magazines, and things went on from there."

He sounds the tiniest bit cagey. Auggie has a suspicion regarding what 'things went on from there' might mean, especially in the light of Jonathan's concern for his source's career and his enthusiasm for her passion. He leaves it for the time being, though. "Who did you tell her you were?"

"She thinks I work for the Elephant Action League. That I'm working on an undercover investigation similar to the one they ran in 2011 to 2012 that showed the links between the illegal ivory trade and Al Shabaab."

Always stick as close to the truth as possible. Auggie's impressed. For an absolute novice, Jonathan Stone has made some really good calls. Except for allowing the line to blur between him and his source. But Auggie's not going to be the one to judge that. He knows how easily that can happen. Even to operatives with a lot of experience. Even to himself.

The heart does what the heart wants.

He's been trying to work out the best way to go forward from here – whether there could be a way to do what Jonathan has asked for without compromising their mission. He has an idea – a workable plan, but he suspects Jonathan's going to find it hard to go along with.

"Have you said anything to her about us?" he asks.

"I mentioned I had two friends coming in from the States, but gave no details."

Auggie sits back in his seat, hands behind his head. Knowing his next question isn't going to go down well. "How would you feel about reading her in?" he asks.

* * *

Jonathan Stone's reaction – a flicker of dismay across his features, a breath held for slightly too long, confirms to Annie what she'd already surmised. The relationship between 'environmental activist' and his 'police source' has gone deeper than just that.

She understands his reaction. Understands the implications of revealing to someone you care about that you've, in essence, been lying to them about something very fundamental.

She also knows that Auggie wouldn't have asked the question unless reading Sindi Ncube in was their best, or maybe even their only, option. It's something that always carries a risk. Humans are humans. The most predictable thing about them is their unpredictability. One never knows how someone will respond.

Jonathan catches Annie watching him. He doesn't even try to cover up, just gives her a small smile and lets out a deep sigh - chagrin written across his features. Busted.

She watches Auggie react to the sigh - leaning forwards, saying quietly to Jonathan, "Look, I wouldn't even suggest this if I could think of an easy way to get around it. But given the time we've got, what we know, what we can get from your source, what we can give to her – it's by far our best option."

"What're you thinking?" Annie prompts Auggie. Maybe if he lays out his thoughts for the Joburg operative, it'll be easier to get his buy-in.

Auggie obliges. "This source of yours can access things we could really use, right? Police reports, files?" he begins. "Well, we can give her intel in exchange. Obviously not the kind of intel she can use to build a case, because…you know," he waves a hand vaguely in the air, "…rules. But," he pauses, "we can help her target her actions, build a solid case using what we find. She gets her bad guys, we get to the next link in the chain. Quid pro quo."

"What if she doesn't want that?" Jonathan asks. He has leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"You just implied she did," Auggie returns without hesitation. No soft-talk now. He can recognize prevarication just as well as she can.

The young man is silent. Looks a little stricken. He really has no way back from that. He has told them that she wants the arrests. Not in so many words, but clearly enough nonetheless.

"It's not whether she wants the win you're worried about, is it?" Annie is gentle. Knowing how hard the decision they're asking him to make is. "Jonathan," she asks, "how serious is it between you two?"

He doesn't try and deny anything. "Serious," he admits. He looks at her, dark eyes intense.

"You know you're in unsafe territory here?" Auggie says. There's a hint of rebuke in his tone. Annie looks at him in surprise, and then back at Jonathan.

The younger man's face has changed. Auggie's comment has touched a nerve. Upset him. "Of course I do!" He keeps his voice down, but his anger is unmistakeable. "I'm not an idiot. I know the rules. No dating foreign nationals…"

"Hey. Hey." Auggie puts his hands up. Placating. "That's not what I meant. Although you are playing with fire there, too." He throws that in as an aside. "I was talking about letting a relationship get too serious before reading the other person in. Not advisable. Take it from me."

The young agent's equilibrium has returned. He looks at Auggie, eyes narrowed a little. Assessing. "Been there done that?"

"Yeah," Auggie confirms. It comes out low. Over a sigh. "I don't recommend it." His mouth is twisted into a wry smile, eyes sad. "I lost a fiancé that way."

Annie feels her eyes widen._ Parker_? Annie can't quite believe she hadn't known that. She knew he'd been late to read her in. But that it had cost him the relationship? She hadn't known that. It had all happened during a time of chaos, during a time when circumstances had dictated that she and Auggie were seeing little of each other, but she can't believe they'd never revisited it.

_So many secrets_.

She feels the familiar stab of pain.

Jonathan is silent for a long moment – expression pensive, fingers tented in front of his mouth. Eventually he sits back. Lets out a deep sigh. "How do I do it?" he asks. Decision made.

They talk. Talk immediate action, overall strategy, communication channels, rendezvous. But underneath it Annie's mind is spinning. _How did I not know? How much do I still not know_?

_So many secrets._

_So many secrets._

It's a chant. An incantation.

A ward set up to protect her heart.

But on the way home, as they walk the twelve blocks to Park Station, having decided they'd done enough 'CitySightSeeing' for the day, she looks over – up - at Auggie. At his self-assured, calm, patient, presentself.

His unshakeable self.

Consistent self.

And she realizes something.

Something that causes something in her to loosen just a little.

_There's a difference between a secret and an untold story_.e opportunity to shrug off the backpack he has slung over a shoulder and find his cane.

He unfolds it, taps it on the ground to lock the joints in place and then waits.

The rustling next to him stops. A zipper closes. The map is back in Annie's purse.

"You ready?" The familiar tap of the back of her hand against his comes. He finds her elbow.

"Depends. You know where we are yet?"

She smacks him on the chest with the back of her hand.

They round a corner, walk a short way, and then turn another corner.

The world changes.

They're still in downtown Johannesburg, but apparently it's a whole different version.

It's quiet. Sequestered. There is no traffic where they are walking and traffic noise from the outside is muffled as if they're in some kind of tunnel. Tall buildings, if the returning echoes of their footfalls and his cane are anything to go by, form the tunnel walls. Main Street it seems, ironically, is a pedestrian-only zone. They're walking on cobbles. There are trees, too, on either side of them – a gently rustling avenue of them with what sounds like grasses whispering underneath them.

A few people walk by them, mostly in groups – talking amongst themselves. They all speak English - educated English – but there is a mix of accents, local and international. Cigarette smoke drifts across from a building to their right. Voices carry down towards him over the top of it. Work colleagues on a smoke break, he guesses, probably on the entry steps of a building.

Gentle trickling indicates a water feature somewhere.

And the tantalizing smell of coffee wafts towards them.

"I'm guessing not just anyone has offices around here," he comments to Annie. "Kinda has an 'old money' feel about it."

"Old _mining_ money," she confirms. "We passed the headquarters of Anglo American a block or so back, and coming up on our left is BHP Billiton." She steers them diagonally to the left. "This whole area is a kind of outdoor mining museum, actually," she continues. "Pieces of old mining equipment set up like sculptures on the sidewalks. We're actually walking around full sized mining headgear right here." So that's what they'd just bypassed.

"Impressed, by the way," she informs him, reaching over to pat the hand he has on her arm "I'm not even going to bother asking how you got 'old money', though. I've heard the sixth-sense-fifth-sense joke before."

He grins. She knows him well. 'How did you do that' questions generally _do _get the sixth-sense-fifth-sense answer. It's an Auggie Anderson rule and he makes few exceptions. "Fair enough," he says.

"Coffee shop's just ahead, by the way," Annie says. He's worked that out, too. The smell of coffee - _good _coffee - is almost on top of them. No great powers of deduction needed for this one. "We still have ten minutes," she goes on. "D'you wanna walk a bit more or go in?"

"Go in. Definitely,' he says. "Standing out here smelling that? Torture."

She laughs. "Thought you'd say that," she tells him.

* * *

Cramer's is a little like a South African version of Starbucks (a chain which, surprisingly, hasn't yet made it to the country). There's a serving counter and a cluster of small tables - some occupied - tucked into a corner. A long booth seat curves along the wall around the tables. A couple of sofas are arranged around a low coffee table near the counter; a long bar counter runs along the length of the front display window, and there are traditional café tables under umbrellas on the pavement outside. Seating for all kinds of meetings.

She gives Auggie an overview. "Inside tables are pretty close together, and some are occupied, sofas are right under the barista's nose…"

"So I'm guessing outside?"

"Your powers of deduction…" she says it with as much irony in her voice as she can, "astound me."

He makes a nonchalant face. "So they should," he informs her. He slips his hand through the crook of her arm, linking arms with her. "Coffee," he says.

They go to the counter. Order. Auggie asks the barista for directions to the bathroom.

"Want me to wait for you?" Annie asks him.

"No need," he says. "Go find a table. I'll get someone to point me in the right direction."

When their coffee's ready Annie takes it outside and selects a table for them. She seats herself – choosing a chair where she can bask in the sun a little. Sips her coffee.

Less than a minute later the young man from the Top of Africa, sans baseball cap this time, pulls out the seat next to hers, puts his backpack on the ground and sits.

"Hi," he says, looking at her with interest. "We meet again." He holds out his hand towards her for a shake, very serious. "I'm Jonathan Stone."

She suppresses a smile at his air of gravity. His newness shows. "Annie Walker." They shake hands.

"Where's your partner?" he asks her – looking at the two cups of coffee on the table.

"Bathroom," she replies, nodding towards the interior. She turns to look properly and spots Auggie just emerging from the corridor down which he'd disappeared earlier. "Here he comes now, actually. Can I get him to grab a coffee or something for you while he's there?"

Their contact smiles for the first time. "That'd be great. Thanks." Enthusiastic. Very. _A fellow coffee-addict friend for Auggie. _"A large cappuccino would be good." He's a little distracted now, squinting through the window, obviously looking to see if he can spot Auggie.

Annie knows the moment he does. It's the first time Jonathan has seen Auggie with his cane, she realizes. His face registers the shock. It's fleeting but unmistakeable.

_He _really_ didn't know,_ thinks Annie, mentally shaking her head.

She stands and goes inside. Finds Auggie at the counter. "Hey," she says, touching him on the shoulder. "Jonathan's already here. I said you'd get him a coffee. I'm just gonna go freshen up too."

* * *

By the time the man behind the counter announces that Jonathan's cappuccino is ready, Annie's back. Auggie goes outside with the coffee and Annie to join Jonathan at the spot Annie's chosen for them.

"Here's the table," Annie says. "Let me take that." He assumes she means the coffee so he hands it over. She takes it and, in turn, shows Auggie the remaining chair. The scrape of a second chair at his two o'clock indicates that she's pulled out hers. "One cappuccino grande," she announces. It's plunked down on the table.

"Looks great. Thank you." The man is quietly-spoken, his accent carrying a hint of the oval tones of Boston, and he is seated at Auggie's nine o'clock.

Auggie, having placed the backpack he's been carrying on the floor, folds his cane, pulls out his seat and sits down with a sigh of contentment. He finds his (now desperately wanted) coffee, sets his cane down on the table, and smiles towards their contact.

"Jonathan?" he says, reaching out a hand (the one that can't wait to get around that hot cup of caffeine), "Auggie Anderson."

The hand is shaken slowly. Almost meditatively. He gets the distinct impression he is being scrutinized. Braces himself for one of those inevitable questions.

Jonathan surprises him. "I think I've heard about you," he says slowly. "I didn't believe you existed though. I thought you were a fabrication." He stops. "Sorry," he says, sounding a little embarrassed, "that sounded odd."

Auggie chuckles and picks up his coffee. _Finally._ "I've been called a lot of things," he admits, "but I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've been called a 'fabrication'." He draws a long sip from the steaming cup in his hand. He's curious. "Heard about me how?" he asks. He knows he's pretty infamous at Langley itself, but hadn't thought his reputation had spread enough that a rookie agent in a far-flung stations would have heard of him. Especially considering he's DPD.

"Garrett Davis?" It's phrased as a question. A kind of 'do you know him?' question. Still disbelieving.

_Ah. _"Garrett Davis," Auggie echoes. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while. How d'you know him?"

"He was here when I first got here. Transferred out soon after, though. London, I think. Lucky."

"Well connected," amends Auggie. "I'm surprised he was ever stationed here, actually. Must have been some career-boosting reason." He smiles to himself, remembering. "Is he still so full of himself?"

Jonathan laughs outright at that. "Obnoxious, you mean? Yeah. Pretty much." Auggie laughs too. There'd been no hesitation on Agent Stone's part at all. "And full of stories," Jonathan continues. "If you had to believe everything he said - all the missions he's been on, the wins – he'd have had to have started at ten. And he'd be DCS by now. Or at least running his own station." He stops for a moment - his released breath indicating it was for a hit of caffeine. "That's why I didn't believe you were real. You were just another story. The blind guy in Barcelona. When he brought down a Salafist group?"

Auggie really laughs at that. "Well, 'blind guy' is accurate, and 'Barcelona', but the rest is…uh…yeah…fairy tale."

"Do _I _know about this?" Annie sounds…bemused?

"A little before your time, Walker," he says, in explanation. "Joan sent me out to chaperone him on a kinda delicate mission. Worried he'd screw things up. I was his handler." He stops, genuinely puzzled. Remembering something. He can feel his forehead creasing into a frown. "Didn't I tell you in Barcelona?" He's wondering if he imagined the conversation.

"You said you'd been there before on a mission," she confirms, much to his relief. He's not delusional after all. There's dawning realization in her voice. "I just assumed it was…" she tails off.

He's got it now. "Before Iraq?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He thinks back. To himself standing in Joan's office. Realizing the potential opportunity in front of him. So terrified of the hope. Trying hard to supress it. But at the same time desperately wanting to sell the possibility to Joan.

"First time Joan risked pulling me out from behind a desk," he tells Annie. He feels the familiar affection for their boss's boss causing the corners of his mouth to lift. Joan. Always his champion.

"And here you are," she says. "Still coming out from behind desks." She nudges his foot under the table with hers.

"And here I am," he grins.

* * *

They get down to business quickly. Auggie is feeling the urgency of what they're doing more and more – wants to drive things forward faster. Jonathan Stone is young and eager enough to not want to waste time either. He's a quick study, Auggie discovers - an information sponge with good, natural deductive ability. His questions are pertinent and he makes connections easily. _Someone to watch, _Auggie finds himself thinking. His attitude is good, too. He's keen to learn, willing to listen. _Gonna be a helluva lot more pleasant to work with than his buddy was, _Auggie decides.

They bring Jonathan up to speed on the Jaco situation. Giving him the highlights.

"So, we've identified two targets, now," Auggie says to Jonathan, "Christiaan Du Buisson, Jaco's brother-in-law, and a woman named Karola King, owner of a security firm called King Security. Her business gives guards and rangers specialized anti-poaching training for Du Buisson's charity Rhino Watch." He pauses. "They seem to be connected in other ways too. For now, unless we discover something new, our focus is getting intel on them. Ideally we wanna find an in. Leverage to turn one or both of them. Work our way up the chain."

"You want to keep them in play?" Jonathan sounds unsure.

"Possibly." Auggie says it slowly. He's picked up something in the younger man's voice. "You sound like you might have a problem with that," he probes.

The young man sighs. Takes a moment before he answers. "I don't know." Hesitant. "I know that might be for the best, but…" He stops.

"But what?" Auggie prompts.

Jonathan Stone clears his throat. "But I was hoping we'd maybe be able to give my source a win on this case. She's been so hemmed in, and this would really boost her career." Once he's gotten over the 'but' the words tumble out as if pre-rehearsed.

_Interesting, _thinks Auggie.

"Tell us about her," he says.

"Her name is Sindisiwe Ncube." Jonathan begins. Auggie doesn't fail to notice how effortlessly he manages the click in her surname. He's had practice. "Sindi. She's a police officer working in the relatively new special Anti-Poaching task force of the South African Police. She's been there just over eighteen months."

"How did you meet?"

"I went looking for her," Jonathan says. "Well, not her specifically, but someone doing anti-poaching work I could talk to. Did some digging, and she looked she had good potential so I asked if I could try cultivate her as a potential source."

"And it worked." Auggie's impressed. This young man has more than a little initiative

"Yeah."

Annie speaks for the first time. "Why her in particular?" she asks. Auggie smiles inwardly. He had just been about to ask the same question. _Partners._

"Because of her history." Jonathan doesn't hesitate. "Her dad is a game ranger – started out doing grunt work on a couple of reserves in KwaZulu-Natal and worked his way up the ladder – evening classes, training courses, all of that kind of thing. He's now a Section Ranger in the Kruger National Park. A pretty high level job."

"So she grew up surrounded by it?" Annie surmises.

"Yes. She's lived on or near wildlife preserves her whole life. She studied conservation at University and worked as a ranger herself for a few years, but when the police started scouting for people with conservation backgrounds for anti-poaching work, she moved over. Did her stint at police college and then applied to join the task force."

"So a true believer," Auggie comments. "They make the best sources." He's impressed. "You did good work."

"Thanks." Jonathan's voice is warm. "Sindi's passionate about this stuff. She'll do whatever she thinks will help raise awareness of what's going on – put pressure on the right people for action. And she's willing to risk a lot, especially when it comes to working against corruption and bureaucracy. I've had to preach caution on a number of occasions when she's wanted to blow things wide open."

Annie makes an approving sound. Auggie wonders if it's approval of Jonathan Stone and his preaching of caution, or Sindi. Sindisiwe Ncube sounds a lot like Annie in many ways. "How'd you work her?" she asks.

"I attended an eco-tourism and conservation expo. I'd heard the police were going to have an anti-poaching information booth." He laughs a little. "Had to attend all four days in the end, because she only did a shift on the last day. But I started up a conversation, focused on a couple of topics she'd written articles on for various conservation magazines, and things went on from there."

He sounds the tiniest bit cagey. Auggie has a suspicion regarding what 'things went on from there' might mean, especially in the light of Jonathan's concern for his source's career and his enthusiasm for her passion. He leaves it for the time being, though. "Who did you tell her you were?"

"She thinks I work for the Elephant Action League. That I'm working on an undercover investigation similar to the one they ran in 2011 to 2012 that showed the links between the illegal ivory trade and Al Shabaab."

_Always stick as close to the truth as possible. _Auggie's impressed. For an absolute novice, Jonathan Stone has made some really good calls. _Except for allowing the line to blur between him and his source. _But Auggie's not going to be the one to judge that. He knows how easily that can happen. Even to operatives with a lot of experience. Even to himself. The heart does what the heart wants.

He's been trying to work out the best way to go forward from here – whether there could be a way to do what Jonathan has asked for without compromising their mission. He has an idea – a workable plan, but he suspects Jonathan's going to find it hard to go along with.

"Have you said anything to her about us?" he asks.

"I mentioned I had two friends coming in from the States, but gave no details."

Auggie sits back in his seat, hands behind his head. Knowing his next question isn't going to go down well. "How would you feel about reading her in?" he asks.

* * *

Jonathan Stone's reaction – a flicker of dismay across his features, a breath held for slightly too long, confirms to Annie what she'd already surmised. The relationship between 'environmental activist' and his 'police source' has gone deeper than just that.

She understands his reaction. Understands the implications of revealing to someone you care about that you've, in essence, been lying to them about something very fundamental.

She also knows that Auggie wouldn't have asked the question unless reading Sindi Ncube in was their best, or maybe even their only, option. It's something that always carries a risk. Humans are humans. The most predictable thing about them is their unpredictability. One never knows how someone will respond.

Jonathan catches Annie watching him. He doesn't even try to cover up, just gives her a small smile and lets out a deep sigh - chagrin written across his features. _Busted._

She watches Auggie react to the sigh - leaning forwards, saying quietly to Jonathan, "Look, I wouldn't even suggest this if I could think of an easy way to get around it. But given the time we've got, what we know, what we can get from your source, what we can _give_ to her – it's by far our best option."

"What're you thinking?" Annie prompts Auggie. Maybe if he lays out his thoughts for the Joburg operative, it'll be easier to get his buy-in.

Auggie obliges. "This source of yours can access things we could really use, right? Police reports, files?" he begins. "Well, we can give her intel in exchange. Obviously not the kind of intel she can use to build a case, because…you know," he waves a hand vaguely in the air, "…rules. But," he pauses, "we can help her target her actions, build a solid case using what we find. She gets her bad guys, we get to the next link in the chain. Quid pro quo."

"What if she doesn't want that?" Jonathan asks. He has leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"You just implied she did," Auggie returns without hesitation. No soft-talk now. He can recognize prevarication just as well as she can.

The young man is silent. Looks a little stricken. He really has no way back from that. He _has _told them that she wants the arrests. Not in so many words, but clearly enough nonetheless.

"It's not whether she wants the _win _you're worried about, is it?" Annie is gentle. Knowing how hard the decision they're asking him to make is. "Jonathan," she asks, "how serious is it between you two?"

He doesn't try and deny anything. "Serious," he admits. He looks at her, dark eyes intense.

"You know you're in unsafe territory here?" Auggie says. There's a hint of rebuke in his tone. Annie looks at him in surprise, and then back at Jonathan.

The younger man's face has changed. Auggie's comment has touched a nerve. Upset him. "Of course I do!" He keeps his voice down, but his anger is unmistakeable. "I'm not an idiot. I know the rules. No dating foreign nationals…"

"Hey. _Hey_." Auggie puts his hands up. Placating. "That's not what I meant. Although you _are _playing with fire there, too." He throws that in as an aside. "I was talking about letting a relationship get too serious before reading the other person in. Not advisable. Take it from me."

The young agent's equilibrium has returned. He looks at Auggie, eyes narrowed a little. Assessing. "Been there done that?"

"Yeah," Auggie confirms. It comes out low. Over a sigh. "I don't recommend it." His mouth is twisted into a wry smile, eyes sad. "I lost a fiancé that way."

Annie feels her eyes widen. _Parker? _Annie can't quite believe she hadn't known that. She knew he'd been late to read her in. But that it had cost him the relationship? She hadn't known that. It had all happened during a time of chaos, during a time when circumstances had dictated that she and Auggie were seeing little of each other, but she can't believe they'd never revisited it.

_So many secrets._

She feels the familiar stab of pain.

Jonathan is silent for a long moment – expression pensive, fingers tented in front of his mouth. Eventually he sits back. Lets out a deep sigh. "How do I do it?" he asks. _Decision made._

They talk. Talk immediate action, overall strategy, communication channels, rendezvous. But underneath it Annie's mind is spinning. _How did I not know? How much do I still not know?_

_So many secrets._

_So many secrets._

It's a chant. An incantation.

A ward set up to protect her heart.

But on the way home, as they walk the twelve blocks to Park Station, having decided they'd done enough 'CitySightSeeing' for the day, she looks over – up - at Auggie. At his self-assured, calm, patient, presentself.

His unshakeable self.

Consistentself.

And she realizes something.

Something that causes something in her to loosen just a little.

_There's a difference between a secret and an untold story._


	29. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER 28**

* * *

_Friday June 27th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

Auggie makes two calls en route back to Christiaan Du Buisson's house – one to Jaco Bouwer and one (resulting from that first call) to Trix Purdon.

Annie shamelessly eavesdrops. His first call - the one to Jaco - has her raising her eyebrows. "You're looping Trix in?" she asks when Auggie's done.

"With Jaco's consent," he says. "We know how Leeza worked the M99 theft, but we've got no proof. She's erased all traces on the system. And we need hard evidence for Jonathan's cop to be able to act on."

"And Trix will get that for us?"

"And Trix will get that for us." No hesitation.

Annie has concerns. "You think that's safe, Auggie? She won't say anything to Leeza? They must know each other pretty well by now." And despite what they've found, there is still the tiniest risk that Theresa Purdon is involved somehow. They have no evidence that she is, but also no evidence that she isn't.

"She's safe," Auggie says. Adamant. Squeezes her arm reassuringly. "Promise. And I guarantee that if I spin this right we'll get her full cooperation."

Annie looks over at him. He's not smiling as such, but there's a slight quirk of amusement around his mouth and those crinkles around his eyes are giving away secrets. He's finding something secretly amusing.

"Guarantee, huh?" she asks.

"Yup." She's got to give it to the guy. He's nothing if not confident.

* * *

He makes the call.

Annie listens. With interest.

"'Jaco says he trusts you'?" she quotes after Auggie hangs up. "'Help us clear his name'? That was your spin?" She ponders. Finds herself smiling. "Does that imply what I think it implies?"

"If you're thinking it implies that a pixie-like vet has...developed feelings for our former target," Auggie says, "then yeah."

"She told you?"

Auggie huffs out a laugh. "Not in so many words," he says. "But it was pretty obvious."

"Wow." She can hear the grin in her own voice. Jaco could do with some happiness for a change. And Annie has a feeling Trix Purdon could be just the person to help him find that. Mentally she crosses her fingers. A thought occurs to her. "Wait a minute," she asks. "How did you know Trix looks like a pixie?"

"Some people call it a sixth sense," Auggie grins, "I like to call it a fifth." She can hear his unspoken subtext. Walked right into that one, Walker.

_Annie Walker. Straight man_. She feels like she should take a bow.

Instead she sighs. An eye-roll kind of sigh.

His grin broadens.

"There a takeout place on the way home?" he asks, shamelessly changing the subject. "I'm starving."

* * *

During the course of their meeting, Jonathan Stone had revealed yet another talent. Auggie wonders if Annie had even picked up on it.

Partway through their chat, Auggie had felt the back-pack under his feet being dragged away from him toward his nine o' clock. This had been followed by the dropping of a spoon and an exclamation from the young agent. Grunting and shuffling had come from under the table for a short time – remarkably short in retrospect. The final grunt had been accompanied by the creak of a chair. The backpack had slid gently back across to his feet.

"Crazy how far these things go when you drop them." Jonathan's words had been accompanied by a laugh.

After the meet, on the way to the station, Annie had asked him: "Did you get the stuff from Jonathan?" She sounds a little anxious. "I kinda thought you guys were gonna swap backpacks or something." She hadn't picked it up. Nice work, Jonathan.

"Don't worry," Auggie reassures her. "Turns out Jonathan Stone can add sleight-of-hand to his resumé, too. Remember the dropped spoon?"

"You're kidding."

In answer he shrugs off the backpack and hands it to her. There's the sound of a zipper being pulled open. "Hm…" she says. "Your birthday or something?"

"Huh?" He frowns at her slightly. Where did that come from?

"Um…the package?" she says. "It's gift-wrapped. Couldn't you tell? Ribbons and bows?"

He laughs. "Seriously?" he queries. Shakes his head. "Gotta love Joburg's style." It's so cheesy it borders on brilliant. "I didn't check inside," he explains to her. "Didn't need to. I could feel what Jonathan was doing. And the pack was heavier when I picked it up." He reflects for a moment. "Kid's got talent," he says to Annie.

"I know," she says. "I just hope it's gonna get him through this next task." The mood sombers slightly. There's a pause. Then there's a nudge on his shoulder. "We should have probably bought him a bottle of tequila," Annie informs him.

It's five thirty when they arrive back at Christiaan's. Half an hour after Franzina's departure time.

"I'll take this down to our place," Auggie suggests to Annie. "You scout Christiaan's. See if anyone's home."

Annie doesn't demur. "See you in a bit," she says, "Here, take this." She hands him the takeout bag containing their dinner. "Now go unwrap your gift." She gives him a little shove in the right direction, then abandons him on the path to the guest house.

He wastes no time getting there.

* * *

Once inside the cottage, he sits down at his workstation on the kitchen counter and retrieves the package from the backpack. Unwraps it. Unpacks the contents. Finds the bag of cash first. Pulls out a wad of notes. Runs his thumb down the edge of the top one. South African bills, unlike US dollars, have tactile markers distinguishing the different denominations. The ease of identification has been…refreshing…to say the least. Four ridges. Hundred rand bills. He doesn't take time to count them but it's but it's a promisingly thick wad of notes. Thank you Joan. And yes, we will bring receipts. He smiles slightly. Returns the cash to the his attention to the other items he carefully begins sorting through what they've been given. All present and correct, his fingers tell him. Mostly standard issue. Only one item Annie might not have dealt with before.

He's busy testing out their two-way comms when Annie returns.

"All clear," she says. "Let's do this."

He loves the fire in her voice.

He talks her through the equipment as he passes things to her. "Get the listening devices into the hall and kitchen first, before you bug the rest of the house," he tells her. "If anyone comes in I wanna know before you." He hands her the next device. A bulkier item. "This fits over the combo lock of a safe like this." He shows her - demonstrating using his fingers. "Fit this on the first safe as soon as you can, so I can start running the combinations from here. If we're lucky we'll get in. If we're very, very lucky we'll have a crack at both. The more time I have, the better our chances."

"Got it."

"OK. Here are a few other toys, which you can use at your discretion." He holds over two credit-card sized envelopes which she takes from him. "Mini stick-on GPS trackers. Two in each envelope. You're familiar with these."

"Yeah," she affirms.

"And this," he says, presenting a small case to her with what he hopes is a flourish, "is so sexy guys can whisper sweet nothings into your ear."

"There are sexy guys around here?" she inquires. "Cool. I'll have to keep a look-out." He can hear her open the case. A moment later it snaps shut. "Testing…testing…" she says.

He pulls his headphones up over his ears. "Try again," he instructs.

"Hello," she says in a seductive voice, "Auggie's told me all about you. Can I get your number?"

"Sorry," he replies, smoothly, "I've only ever given my number to one woman." He winks at her. Hopes she's watching.

"Lucky girl." There's a smile in her voice.

It warms him.

A zipper closes - the last of the items he's given her have no doubt been packed into the hip pouch she'll be wearing.

She touches him lightly on his shoulder.

"I'm off," she says.

This time he doesn't wait for her to ask.

"Good luck, Walker."

* * *

Once again she enters Christiaan Du Buisson's beautiful house through the front door. The lock to the security gate gives her far less trouble this time. She punches in the alarm code. The incessant beeping stops.

"I'm in," she says to Auggie.

"Good. Let's work fast, OK? Get a bug in where you are, first." His voice is almost in her head.

She chooses an electrical socket low down on the wall – one into which a beautiful Art-deco lamp is plugged. Unscrews the cover plate. Inserts the device. "Bug's in," she says.

"OK," comes the reply. "Let's test." A small pause. Then: "Start counting."

She does. "One…two…three…"

"Got it," he says. "Now go do the same in the kitchen."

She repeats the exercise.

Next she moves into Christiaan's office. Removes the wood panel behind which she had discovered the safe on her last visit. Places the gadget Auggie had given her over the combination lock the way he'd shown her. "Autodialer's in place on the office safe."

"How's it look?"

"Good fit," she tells him.

"Great. I'm on it. Keep your fingers crossed."

She laughs at that. "Auggie, either I go plant more bugs, or I cross my fingers. I can't do both."

They install and set up listening devices in the living room, TV room, stairway landing, bathroom and main bedroom. "Probably overkill," Auggie says. "but may as well use what we got."

"Now what?" Annie's pretty sure she's done what she can for now.

"Now, Miss Walker," Auggie says, his voice in her ear intimate purely by way of its proximity, "you do what all good spies have to do well. You wait."

She waits.

For forty-five minutes her thoughts tumble around aimlessly.

Thoughts of her sister. Memories of missions. Bits and pieces of her childhood. Travel. Her ghosts – Lena Smith, Jai, Simon Fisher, Henry Wilcox. Her friends – Eyal Levin, Vincent Rossabi, Joan.

And Auggie. Always Auggie.

She has been in this space so often before, has learned the hard way that trying to get those thoughts to make sense – to align, to connect - is frustrating. Futile. So she lets them spin.

Auggie's voice through her earpiece startles her out of her near trance. It's beginning to get dark outside. She checks the time on her phone. Six forty-four.

"We're in, Walker. The combination is two-zero-seven-seven." Auggie sounds delighted. Annie's not surprised. Auggie'd said to her there were no guarantees with this kind of safe-cracking. Sometimes you get lucky and sometimes it can take upward of twenty-four hours.

She gets up from Christiaan's office chair and starts towards the safe. "I'm gonna move this gadget of yours to the bedroom safe and then come down and open this one, Auggie. While we're on a roll…"

* * *

The signal from the autodialer comes through to his laptop from the second safe. Annie's obviously had no trouble fitting it. He sets the algorithm to work again. Mentally crosses his fingers again. Then he waits to hear Annie's discoveries in the office safe.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"Three boxes of M99 in here, Auggie." Scrabbling sounds. "Not much else. Some cash. A South African passport…oh…wait…A South African identity document too." There's a slight pause. He imagines she's flipping through the two books. "Auggie," Her voice through his headphones. "Both of these are in the name of Jean-Paul Du Buisson. And both have Christiaan's photograph."

Nice. "Take photos, Annie. Most of that stuff will probably go with Christiaan tomorrow. But we can show the pics to our cop. Prove that we are on the right track."

"Will do." She disappears for a short while, presumably photographing the safe's contents. Returns to him. "Now we wait again?"

"'Fraid so. Christiaan had back-to-back meetings in his calendar. Last one a business dinner in his calendar at seven thirty. We've got till at least nine." He considers. "I guess you could come back here if you wanted."

"It's fine. I'll wait. Have a look around some more," she says. "It's better if I'm here if he comes home early. Don't want him finding anything suspicious."

"You got an escape route?" He's being over-cautious. Of course she does. Mentally he slaps himself. She's a big, girl, Auggie. She's been through a lot, but she's still a big girl.

"Guest bedroom," she says, apparently unperturbed. "Hinged burglar bars. Padlocked. Found the key last time I was here."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah. On the other side of the house from the cottage. The window opens over the patio outside the sitting room. Easy climb across the pergola and down."

"Let's hope you don't have to use it," he comments. "Listen, if I've got nothing by nine I'm calling it, OK?"

She assents.

All goes silent.

They wait.

Half an hour later, incredibly, his computer sends him the signal they're waiting for.

"Walker," he says, "you're not gonna believe this." He can feel his grin spreading, "We've got the combination for the second safe. Can you believe that luck?"

"You're talking to the woman who won thirty-thousand dollars on snake-eyes once, Auggie." He can hear her smile. "I can believe it."

He begins to recite the numbers "Four…one…zero…seven," but while he's still speaking he becomes aware of a sound coming through his audio feed - the distinct blend of whining and crashing that accompanies the opening of automatic garage doors. He isolates it to the bug in the kitchen.

Christiaan is home early. Very early. Dinner meeting canceled?

"Annie," he says urgently. "You have company. Coming through the garage. Time to go."

No reply. Too risky.

He listens as Christiaan enters the kitchen. Some unidentifiable bangs and crashes. The refrigerator opens. Closes.

Footsteps.

A TV goes on.

Auggie increases the volume on the feed from the TV room. Christiaan has tuned into some kind of sports analysis program by the sound of it. Rugby. It's going to be hard to tell what the man is doing over the noise. Auggie reduces the volume of the feed from the TV room. Amplifies the others. That way he has a better chance of hearing if Christiaan leaves the room.

He fervently hopes Annie's got out already. The TV room is on the same side as the patio. He checks the main bedroom. No sound. Good. "You on your way back, Walker?"

He waits for the confirmation.

Instead he gets the sound that always makes his heart sink.

"Auggie." In the unmistakable, hesitant, slightly apologetic voice which means she's done the exact opposite of what he'd asked her to do.

He sighs. Resigned. Shakes his head. "Where are you?" he says with exaggerated patience. "Seeing as it's pretty obvious you're not where you're supposed to be." His tone belies the increase in his heart rate – the result of a sudden adrenaline surge. His head may know to expect the unexpected from Annie Walker by now, but his sympathetic nervous system, it seems, is still learning.

"Closet under the stairs." She's whispering.

Despite his efforts, infuriation with her has welled up. Too strongly for him to cover. "Shit, Annie," he says. "What happened?" He stops himself.

Calms himself.

The problem with high-risk-high-reward operatives is that they do take risks. It's why they're so good at what they do. It's why Annie is so good at what she does. It's one of the many, many reasons he loves working with her. She's never boring. "Actually, don't answer that now," he cautions. "Don't talk. Text me, OK?"

'OK.' The text comes through.

"You're gonna have to sit tight for a while. I'll let you know when you're clear."

'GOING TO GARAGE. C WON'T SEE ME. OTHER SIDE OF STAIRS.'

_Good thinking Annie_. "OK. Good idea." That will work as an exit route too. He wonders if his relief is audible. "Just be careful." He tweaks the volume of the feed from the device in the kitchen. Hears Annie quietly open and close the door between kitchen and garage – she must have planted the bug close to the door.

He waits.

Seven minutes later Christiaan goes into the kitchen, opens and closes the refrigerator. Leaves.

Auggie waits some more.

Annie doesn't arrive back at the cottage.

Another text arrives instead.

'C IN TV ROOM?'

_What the…?_ "Are you still in the house, Annie? What the hell are you doing?" The adrenaline surges again. He's having to restrain himself from yelling at her. "I thought you were getting out." He's pretty sure he sounds as upset as he's feeling. She's literally getting an earful.

Her answer comes back as a whisper, rather than a text. "I wanted to get a tracker onto his car, Auggie." She sounds completely unrepentant. He rolls his eyes. "Now I need a way back into the house."

"Just come out through the garage," he instructs. Firmly. "He won't hear you over the TV."

"Can't," she whispers. "The safe-cracking stuff's still upstairs in the bedroom."

Auggie throws his hands up in the air. Growls in exasperation.

Slowly begins to stand.

"Annie Walker," he asks her, "why do you never follow instructions?" He sighs heavily. "Now I'm gonna have to come rescue you." He's leaning over his laptop now, hands on the counter – one on either side of the computer. "Is the remote for the gate and alarms with you, or is it around here somewhere?"

"I have it," she whispers.

"OK. Now listen to me." _Please._ "Get back to your closet. You're clear for now. Text me when you're there. Go."

* * *

It takes her less than half a minute. "Messages notification. Helvetica: 'CLOSET'," intones Voice Over.

Good girl. Finally she's listening. "Right. Now activate the perimeter alarm from the remote."

'DONE'

"Annie, you're gonna be on your own now – I'm stepping out of the office. Wait for your chance, OK? Then go. And delete your texts."

'OK'

Auggie pulls his headphones off, and closes the laptop. He makes his way over to the hall table. Finds his cane. Takes a deep breath. Steps outside.

All hell breaks loose.

An alarm blares - a strident sound – repetitive, shrill, siren-like. Loud. All the local dogs, it seems, start barking frantically. Auggie sends a silent apology to Christiaan's neighbors. His guilt is tempered, though, by the fact that at least it's not the dead of night.

He walks a short way from the cottage towards the main house.

Stops. Stands dead still. Hopes he's gone far enough to be visible in the gloom from the windows of Christiaan's office.

Or maybe not gloom, he realizes. It's quite possible Christiaan has installed motion-sensor-linked lights. Auggie could well be standing bathed in bright light right now. He hopes he isn't. It'll buy Annie more time if all Christiaan can see is a shadowy figure. Not a spot-lit guy with a dazzling white cane.

He waits.

The alarm continues to blare.

He continues to stand frozen.

Then there's shouting. "Stay where you are. Don't move. Show me your hands." The voice is harsh. The accent Afrikaans.

Auggie raises his hands, cane still held in his right. Impressive. Christiaan's definitely getting his money's worth from his armed response company. Arrival in under three minutes.

"Please," he says, injecting a tremor into his voice. Feigning shock. "I'm not an intruder. I'm staying here, I promise. My name's Owen Garrett. You can ask Mr. Du Buisson."

"Lionel," the guard who has been issuing directions to Auggie calls. His voice travels away from Auggie - calling over his shoulder. "Go see if the owner is here. Otherwise phone him. Check this guy's who he says he is."

"There's no need for that," Christiaan's voice drifts over from behind the security guards. "He is." He sounds very annoyed. "Thank you for coming out."

"God, I'm so sorry, Christiaan." Auggie feigns acute embarrassment. Aims his words in the direction from which the man's voice had come. "Just came out to make a call - Laura's napping – I didn't want to disturb her. I had no idea the alarm was set."

"It's fine," says Christiaan, his tone of his voice saying the exact opposite. "It's just I have to pay for every call-out."

"I'll refund you." More embarrassment. Apologetic. Should have been on the stage, Anderson.

"That won't be necessary." Christiaan's voice is smooth, but cold. "Just please make sure you check next time."

Auggie doesn't bother to explain that he'd find it difficult to see if the red indicator light for the perimeter alarm is on or off. Even if he wanted to check.

* * *

Annie, from the window of the main bedroom, sees him. Auggie. Slap bang in the middle of the lawn. Hands in the air. Flashlight beam trained onto his face. Talking earnestly to the guard responsible for the light. And to Christiaan Du Buisson.

Her heart contracts.

_Always got my back_.

She does what she needs to. Then she crosses the hall to the guest bedroom. Unlocking the bars, she swings them open. Opens the window. Climbs through. She balances on one of the wooden beams of the pergola, reaching through the window to re-padlock the bars, stretching up to hang the key back on the hook hidden behind the drapes. She closes the window as best she can. Climbs across the pergola and down. Skirts around the back of the house, hugging the wall.

Watches Christiaan Du Buisson walk back toward the house. Watches Auggie walk back to the darkened cottage. He has left no lights on.

Keeping to the shadows, she goes to him.

The door opens quietly. There's the click of a light switch.

"Hey," she says quietly.

"Hey, Walker," he says in her direction. Gives her a grin. "Glad to have you back." He nods slightly. Matter-of-fact. Pragmatic. The way he's always been with her at times like this. No fuss. No rebuke. No evident relief. No thinking about what happened. No thinking about what might have happened. Just focusing on what is.

"Glad to be back." She echoes his tone. It's an old, familiar routine.

A longing rises inside him. A longing to just go back. A longing he forces himself to suppress.

Because he can't.

They can't.

Her hand is on his shoulder. "Thanks," she says.

"No problem," he tells her. "It was fun." He turns to smile at her. "Just like old times."

Her hand stills on his shoulder. She is suddenly quiet. No, not quiet. Silent.

The room is inexplicably full of tension.

Her hand moves away.

"I found something interesting in the bedroom safe," she says brightly. But it's brittle. And a blatant subject change.

He mentally shakes his head. What the hell just happened?

He has no idea. And no idea what to do about it. So he follows her lead. "You got into the safe?"

"Yeah. Thanks to you. Saw you had Christiaan occupied, so I grabbed the opportunity." She pauses. "Quite a show, by the way." There's a smile in her voice. An undercurrent of laughter. "Very distracting." The tension dissipates.

"I thought so," he says immediately. Grins at her. Enjoys the memory. The racket. The chaos swirling about him. Him at the center. Controlling it all.

The thrill of that.

"You're so modest."

"I know," He grins again. Shifts on his barstool. She's moved to the opposite counter, is filling the kettle. He tracks her movements. "So, come on Walker," he prompts. "What's the big find? You can't drop a line like that and then leave it. Spill."

"In a minute." She switches on the kettle first. Rattles cups and mugs around. Rustles the food bag. The microwave goes on. He begins to think she's drawing things out deliberately. Doesn't give her the satisfaction of responding. Just waits patiently. A master of the art.

She eventually stops puttering. "I found a will, Auggie. And an interesting photograph."

He asks the question she wants: "Interesting how?"

"Interesting because, in the will, Christiaan Du Buisson leaves all of his earthly possessions to Karola King's son. Lukas. With Karola as trustee…"

Auggie is slightly taken aback. Not what he was expecting. "Why?" he asks. More to himself than to her, but she answers.

"That's where the photo comes in."

He raises his eyebrows. An unspoken question. _Go on_.

She does. "It's a photograph of Karola King and her son…" Again she pauses, leaving him in suspense.

_Spit it out, Annie_.

"Auggie, Lukas is a mini version of Christiaan Du Bisson."

* * *

The rest of the evening is dedicated to Thai take-out and the consolidation of the intel they have gathered so far. Auggie wants to be able to present a succinct case to Sindi Ncube in the morning, and a plan for how to proceed - assuming Jonathan manages to do his part in arranging the meet. Annie goes through the photos on her iPad again. Selects the pertinent ones. Gives Auggie descriptions of them so he can log them.

At just after nine p.m. Auggie calls her name. Motions her over with his head. He pulls the plug of his headphones out so she can hear what it is that's caught his attention.

It's another call from Christiaan to Karola.

But despite the tap on Christiaan's iPhone, they're still only hearing Christiaan's side of the conversation. "Second phone," Auggie says to her during a pause in the conversation.

Once again, she has to attempt translation. By the end of the conversation they have gathered the following: Whatever had been planned for Monday is now going to happen on Sunday – there's been a shift change at the border; Leeza has everything back in order; Jaco will be there by Sunday afternoon, so that part of the plan can go ahead too.

At the end of the call Christiaan tells Karola about Auggie's triggering of the alarm. Karola's response makes him agitated. Of course nothing's been moved in the house. I was in it at the time. Everything's fine, Karola, stop being paranoid. There's no way these guys are anything to worry about. Anyway, they fly back tomorrow. They won't even be in the country when it happens.

The call ends.

Auggie turns to her. "I hope you got that tracker on his car, Walker," he says very seriously. "We need to be wherever he is on Sunday."

He has no idea how much time has passed by the time he's put together a dossier for Sindisiwe Ncube with which he's satisfied. He checks his watch. Just shy of eleven. Not too bad. He knows himself. Once he's in a particular kind of zone he can go on into the early hours without noticing.

He removes his headphones. Raises his arms above his head. Stretches out his back. "All done, Walker," he says in the direction of the couch where she'd been sitting earlier. Before he'd inadvertently shut the world out. Suppresses a yawn. "Bedtime."

There's no reply. Gone to bed already? A flicker of anxiety catches him unawares. She's never been in the same place as him before and not said good night to him before turning in. His earlier unease has been stirred again.

He packs up his things and goes through to the bedroom. Stands very still listening. There's no sound. "Annie?" Softly. He doesn't want to wake her if she is asleep. No answer.

He sighs. Gets ready for bed. Walks through the cottage checking the lights. Turning off those that are still on.

He's about to climb into his bed when temptation overwhelms him.

She may not have said goodnight to him, but he wants to say goodnight to her. He crosses to her bed. Carefully finds the edge of her bed. Gently explores it with the back of his hand. Doesn't find Annie. Instead discovers a perfectly neatly made bed.

An initial flash of concern is followed by the feeling of his face relaxing into a smile. He's figured out what's happened. Pulling the folded blanket off the end of her bed he goes into the living area. He finds Annie curled up on the sofa. Determines that her head is on the side nearest to the window and her back against the cushions. She's so fast asleep that he can barely discern her breathing.

He carefully unfolds the blanket and covers her as gently as he can.

"G'night Walker," he whispers.

He's unable to resist tracing her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers.

She stirs slightly and then settles.

Auggie Anderson returns to a lonely bedroom. A lonely bed.

He lies awake for a long, long time.


	30. Chapter 30

**CHAPTER 29**

* * *

_Saturday June 28th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

The smell of coffee and the tinkering sounds of her draw him out from under the covers and into the kitchen.

He unintentionally announces his arrival by colliding with a barstool just jutting out from under the counter he's using for orientation. Must have pushed the thing in too far last night. Assists his accidental victim to recover its balance. Begins to push it back in under the counter, then changes his mind. Scouting the counter for free space with his left hand he drags the offending piece of furniture across with him and seats himself with a sigh and an eyeroll. "Morning," he says to Annie.

"Morning," she returns. Deadpan. A mug of coffee touches the side of his hand.

_If I didn't love you already, Annie Walker…_"Thanks," he says, wrapping both hands around the mug. His smile is wry. "I apparently need this."

"When don't you?" He can hear the smile.

He huffs a light laugh through his nose. "True." Pulls the corners of his mouth down. Shrugs - conceding the point. Takes a first sip from the warm mug in his hands.

Turns the spotlight onto her. "How'd you sleep?" He can't quite hide the grin.

She clears her throat. "Yeah," she says. "Wasn't expecting to do that. Must have been more tired than I thought."

"I definitely prefer that to 'You were so boring…'"

She laughs. "Well, there was that too," she says. She has no mercy. "Thanks for the blanket, by the way."

"It was either that or carry you to bed," he tells her. "I went for the easy option." There's a slight grunt from her direction. Some shuffling. An odd bang. He sends a frown in her direction. "What are you doing?"

"Huh?" She sounds momentarily puzzled, then her voice clears. "Oh," she says. "I jumped up to sit on the counter over here."

"You're a counter-sitter?" He's amazed he hadn't known that. He grew up in a home where such things were a massive no-no. His alertness to them was installed at an early age. He's picked up on Annie's feet-on-the-table habit for just that reason. "I had no idea."

"Oh, yeah. Terrible," she admits. "I put my feet up on tables too. Every mother's nightmare."

"I knew that," he tells her airily. "That you do at my place all the time."

Silence.

_Do? Did? Will do?_

Suddenly everything's frozen again. Stuck.

And Auggie's had enough.

* * *

From across the small kitchen Annie watches Auggie set his mug down on the counter in front of him. His face has gone from amused to pensive. There's the slightest of frowns. Not anger, though. Something else. Something softer.

For some strange reason that makes it worse.

She steels herself. Knowing what's coming. Knowing she still isn't ready for it. Still can't explain things to herself, never mind to Auggie.

She keeps her eyes on his face. Waits for it. For his What's going on, Annie? Or We need to talk, Annie.

He draws in a breath. Here it comes.

She holds hers.

"Annie Walker," he says to her, quietly. Seriously. "Would you let me take you out for dinner tonight? Somewhere nice? If circumstances allow it?"

_What the…?_

The sudden release of tension has her, ridiculously, fighting giggles.

Always full of surprises, Auggie Anderson. Here she'd been expecting a conversation for which she was completely unprepared. Instead, she's going on a date.

Not unless you give the guy an answer, Annie. She laughs at herself.

Looks at him.

He's waiting patiently. Being Auggie.

"Like a date?" she asks.

"Like a date." His eyes are crinkling. One corner of his mouth tilts upwards. It's infectious. Her face responds in kind.

"I'd like that very much."

He looks away with a slight nod – smile deepening. Auggie's classic gesture of gratification.

Her stomach knots itself up again.

* * *

The message from Jonathan Stone comes through at just after eight.

Annie is sitting next to him at the kitchen counter – in his 'office' - as he walks her through the dossier he'd been compiling when she'd fallen asleep the evening before. Talking her through their options - their possible plan B's.

'SINDI ON BOARD. WANTS TO MEET THIS MORNING. MUGG &amp; BEAN, KILLARNEY MALL. 11:00?'

"So he did it," says Annie. There's more than a hint of admiration in her voice. Then she adds ruefully: "He obviously aced the 'Reading People In' course. The one I flunked."

Auggie scans the counter with his left hand for his phone. "Not just you, Walker." Finds the phone. Gives her a rueful grin. "Maybe we should ask him for lessons."

He dictates a reply to Jonathan: "Nice work. See you there." Puts down his phone. Stretches out his back a little, hands locked behind his head.

"Guess we can stop worrying about contingency plans, now," he says to Annie.

They decide that Annie will walk up to Jaco's practice to speak to Trix while Auggie remains behind to deal with the more mundane business of finalizing their bill with Christiaan and making arrangement for the return of their keys the next morning. Laura Pritchard had promised Christiaan they'd be up at the house before ten a.m. which is when Christiaan will be leaving for the Du Buissons' exclusive private reserve and lodge in Mpumalanga.

Once Annie has gone Auggie takes a quick shower, tops up his caffeine levels and then grabs his cane and wallet and heads up to the house.

Christiaan himself opens the door. "Owen," he says. Not happy. Obviously expecting Annie, Auggie thinks. Not without mirth.

"Christiaan." Auggie shows equal enthusiasm. "I came up to settle our bill. Laura said she'd arranged it with you."

"You came on your own?" Dubious.

"Yeah."_ All the way up the path and your front steps by myself. Amazing._ "Laura had some shopping she wanted to get done before we go tomorrow. I said I'd sort this out."

"Oh." Christiaan Du Buisson is suddenly sounding very...uncomfortable. "Um. Do you need to come inside?"

Auggie has to work hard to keep his eyes from rolling. He's almost tempted to say yes just to see what the man does. The idea of Christiaan Du Buisson's hands on him is more than enough motivation to resist, though.

He sighs audibly. "No," he says, with exaggerated patience. "I pay you the money. You give me a receipt. And then you tell me what you want Laura and me to do when we go tomorrow. I think we can handle all that right here, don't you?" He hasn't bothered to dampen the sarcasm in his tone. Doesn't see the need.

There's a dead silence. For a moment he wonders if he's pushed it too far. Wonders if he should be preparing himself to duck. Realizes (not unamused) that a part of him is almost hoping for it - really wouldn't mind a valid reason to have a crack at rearranging Du Buisson's allegedly perfect facial features.

That part of him has to go unsatisfied though. "Fine," says the man in front of him coldly, "I'll go and arrange a receipt for you." His footsteps retreat back into the house. Auggie permits himself the eyeroll.

Christiaan returns. They complete the transaction. Auggie has to stand and wait while the notes he has handed over are carefully counted. Resists the urge to sigh.

"If you could please be out by ten tomorrow?" No warmth. Barely polite. "Leeza will come across to lock up and collect the key. Just give her a call when you're ready."

"Sure," says Auggie. Completely neutral.

"Shall I send you her number?" Christiaan asks.

The frigidity of his "Oh, I see," when Auggie informs him he already has it almost makes up for the earlier lack of opportunity to smack the guy.

What he knows that what they're going to do to Christiaan Du Buisson over the next day or so is even better compensation.

* * *

Back at the cottage, waiting for Annie's arrival or Christiaan's departure – whichever happens first – Auggie mulls over his earlier conversation with Annie.

He'd awoken, after hours of mental wrestling, none the wiser as to what to do about her. About them. About the weird whatever-it-was that had been happening between them since they'd left Namibia.

About how hard he was finding the slow erosion of the hope he'd allowed to start building in him in Namibia.

He'd tried to curb the thinking. Knowing how little it really helps. Knowing how sometimes it can actually hurt.

He'd overthought things once before. After Helen had reappeared. And he'd allowed that overthinking to paralyze him, to overwhem his natural inclinations - his urge to just be damned with rationality and projections and to fight for her.

To fight with her for her.

Instead he'd just frozen

And his inability in that moment to argue, to disagree with her - his passivity - had ironically been the driving force that pushed her away.

That pushed them apart.

At least this time it hadn't been whether or not to fight that had been the topic of his internal debate, it had been how to fight.

He'd spent much of the night trying to figure out what exactly had been going on. Analyzing those 'weird' moments trying to find common denominators, links, any possible clues as to why Annie was suddenly behaving like a skittish horse around him.

And how best to deal with it without spooking her more.

He still hadn't quite known what he was going to do when that moment had arrived earlier. He'd thought he was going to ask her if they could sit down and talk about it all but instead the question he had asked her had popped right up out of his subconscious (he assumes that's where it came from), bypassed his brain and come straight out of his mouth.

_Would you let me take you out for dinner?_

He's not sure whether he'd surprised himself or Annie more.

He hopes to God his subconscious knows what it's doing.

* * *

Annie begins her walk along the tree-lined suburban streets towards Jaco's practice in a strange state of euphoric terror. Every brown shriveled leaf floating down off a tree ahead of her, every pile of them she crunches through, every aloe flower she walks past makes her both jittery and absurdly giggly. And half-tearful. All at the same time.

Everything is suddenly overwhelmingly beautiful and gut-twistingly petrifying all at once.

_Pull yourself together_, Walker, she admonishes herself. _What are you? Fourteen?_

But it's not first date nerves she's feeling, she realizes. It's something else. It's that feeling you get on the court, or on the field when suddenly everything is down to you. When the win or loss is dependent on you getting one final thing right – sinking the basket, kicking the goal.

And it's hope.

Auggie, damn the man, has somehow managed to give her that. Somehow, in one unexpected maneuver he's provided her with something that could be the undoing of the shambolic mess that is her brain every time it tries to tackle the problem that is them. Something so incredibly simple it could actually work.

She recognizes a Hail-Mary pass when she sees one.

She hopes, with every fiber of her being, she's going to be able to catch it.

* * *

Trix is waiting for Annie in the practice office, seated at the office desk. She turns back to look over her shoulder when Annie knocks on the doorframe.

"Eish," the vet exclaims when she sees Annie. "What in heaven's name happened to you? You look shell-shocked." Annie blinks, but recovers quickly. Trix holds up a hand, obviously accurately reading the sudden shuttering of Annie's face. "Don't worry, I won't ask," she says. "Coffee, though?"

"I'd love some," Annie smiles. Means it. "But I can't stay long. I've got to get back as soon as I can. Owen and I have to move on this."

"If you mean your 'I'd love to' then have some," urges Trix. "It'll take no extra time. It's already made. You'll have to pour though." She turns the office chair around fully. Gestures to her lap. Three kittens lie nestled in her lap. "Abyssinians," Trix says. "Came in this morning. The mother has mastitis so they're going to need hand-rearing. Luckily they're bloody valuable little buggers. Their owners are going to have to pay me the price of one of them at least for all the sleep I'm going to be losing."

"You're going to do it?" Annie reaches out a finger to touch one of the tiny little toasted ginger creatures. It's so soft. It stirs, stretches a little and then settles back to sleep. "Shouldn't that be the owners' problem?"

"Ah, what can I say?" The diminutive vet grins at her. "I have an overabundance of maternal hormones and no hope of my own babies anytime soon. I just take what I can get." Annie finds herself wondering if these owners are actually going to be charged by Dr. Purdon at all. Dr. Purdon gestures with her head. "Go get coffee," she says, "and then come back for the stuff Owen asked for."

Annie follows the gorgeous aroma down the corridor to the little kitchen at the end of it. Pours a cup. Takes a deep breath. What the hell is wrong with you Walker? All her hard pull-yourself-together work undone again by three little bundles of fluff.

"Can I get you a cup?" she calls in the direction of the office. Trying for normality.

"Always," comes the emphatic reply.

A second mugful poured followed by a large hit of (delicious) caffeine from her own, and she's back together. Ready to return to the office.

The hard drive she's here to collect is on the desk, together with a manila folder.

The vet taps it. "Here you go," she says. "For shit's sake don't use it for anything that could get me arrested. My children need me." She smiles down at her lap. "Don't you, babies?"

She looks back up at Annie then, her face sobering. "How bad is it?" she asks. "I mean, how much trouble is Jaco in?"

Annie doesn't insult her with prevarication. Instead looks her straight in the eye. Trix Purdon is no fool. And she's someone, Annie suspects, who appreciates the same level of directness she gives. Quid pro quo.

"Potentially?" she says, "A lot. The police have in their possession a bottle of M99 registered to Jaco and found at the scene of a poaching where M99 was used."

Trix's expression is shrewd. "And you know this how?"

"A source," says Annie. "Friend of a friend. We happened to mention Jaco's name and bells started ringing…" She breaks off.

Theresa Purdon's mouth tilts at one corner. "So Owen wasn't here to fix the system?"

"Not exactly, no." Annie finds her mouth tilting in response.

Trix looks down, studying the sleeping kittens in her lap. Looks back up at Annie. Thoughtful. Gestures with her head at the items she's placed on the desk.

"And this?"

"Owen hopes there's enough there to exonerate Jaco. Or at least cast doubt. Stave off the cops. Otherwise as soon as Jaco's back in South Africa…"

"The shit hits the fan?" Theresa completes for her.

Annie nods grimly. "Yeah."

"Well, I'd best let you get on with it then." Brisk. Business-like. "I checked the filing cabinet like Owen asked me too," she says. "No missing receipts, delivery slips, prescription forms. Everything's there." And yet there were missing ones when I checked yesterday, Annie recalls. "I've made a list of the orders he wanted me to highlight. And copies of all of the paperwork to do with them. " She pushes the folder across the desk towards Annie. "Oh. And the practice bank statements are there too. Tell Owen thanks for that. Now I've got all the passcodes, I can embezzle Jaco properly." She winks at Annie. But it doesn't cover the concern in her eyes.

"Wait till your babies are grown up, though," Annie advises.

Trix laughs at that. Her wonderful, infectious, genuine laugh. "Finish your coffee," she orders. "Pass your bag over. I'll pack this stuff in for you."

Annie does as she's been told.

"This is Owen's bag," Trish comments as she takes it from Annie. "I coveted it when he came yesterday." She places it on the desk in front of her, opens the flap, begins to slide the folder and hard drive into it.

Starts to say something. Stops herself. Draws a second breath. Sighs.

A resigned sigh.

"Ah. Bugger it," she says, turning around to face Annie. "I said I wasn't going to ask, so I won't. But I'm going to tell instead." She looks Annie directly in the eye, her own eyes dark. Grave. "Whatever it is going on between you and Owen," she says, "I hope you work it out." Her eyes soften. "He's…" She pauses. "You know."

"I know." Annie discovers a catch in her voice.

"And I like you."

That makes Annie smile. "Thank you."

Trix holds her gaze steadily. "And he loves you."

"He told you?" Annie feels her eyebrows go up.

"Not in so many words." Their already-strange conversation has begun feeling distinctly deja-vous-like. "But, yes. He did." _That no-words discussion between Auggie and Trix must have been quite something_.

She sighs. "I do know that," she says softly. _That's a huge part of the problem_.

"And you love him?" Trix's voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"Yes." _Another huge part of the problem_.

She finds she has to look away.

Trix isn't having any of that. "Laura," she says. Waits till Anne has her eyes back on her. Holds her gaze. "Then make it work."

Annie finds she has no answer to that. So she nods.

"Good." The vet holds out Auggie's bag to her. "Best you get back on your hobby-horse then," she says, smiling.

Annie takes the bag. Returns the smile. "Yeah. I'd better. Owen will be champing at the bit." She only realizes what she's said after it's out of her mouth. Of all the unintended puns to come up with…

Trix Purdon, not unexpectedly, pounces on the inuendo gleefully. "I do like the sound of that," she says. "That's exactly what I was talking about." She grins.

Annie rolls her eyes.

"Good luck," says Trix sincerely.

"Thanks," says Annie, equally sincerely. She turns. Walks out the door.

Behind her she hears Trix Purdon's voice. "Oh, and tell Owen thank you. The system's running much more smoothly," she says.

* * *

When Annie arrives back, Auggie takes the hard-drive from her immediately and plugs it in. Finds the folders he's looking for. Scans through them quickly.

Annie's standing right next to him. Waiting. Probably watching too – although he doubts she'll be seeing anything useful on his screen. He reaches into his bag. Pulls out Trix's folder. "Is there a list of dates in here? Orders?" he asks, holding the folder out in her direction.

The folder is taken from his hand. "She said so," Annie replies. The familiar sound of a folder being opened is followed by the shuffling of papers. "Yeah. Here it is."

"Good. Read those dates to me? One by one."

She proceeds to do that.

Every single one of his theories hardens to concrete, provable fact.

Annie must have seen something on his face because she asks: "We've got what we needed?"

He can't stop the grin. "Yeah, Walker," he tells her, "we've got exactly what we needed."

Her hand is on his shoulder. Squeezing it. "That's good. That's really good." Her voice is animated. He covers the hand with his own. Squeezing back. Draws a breath to respond.

Is interrupted by feedback from his computer. From several sources. All indicating that Christiaan Du Buisson is on the move - Christiaan Du Buisson, his iPhone and all four GPS tracking devices Annie had planted in his house.

By the time Annie and Auggie leave to take their short walk to Killarney Mall, the black BMW X5 has already passed Pretoria and is traveling east on the N4 highway in the direction of Mozambique.

* * *

Sindisiwe Ncube is a striking young woman. She's tall (slightly taller than Jonathan Stone, Annie notes, when the two of them stand to greet Annie and Auggie), with wide cheek bones, almond-shaped eyes. Athletic, both in build and personal style - she is wearing a black hoodie, black sweat pants and track shoes. She has chosen to keep her hair natural, cropped short – an unusual choice in a country where many other black women her age seem to favor weaves.

She stands out. Strongly individual. Confidently so.

And just a few minutes' conversation with her confirm to Annie that the visual impression matches the person.

The policewoman and their young CIA contact have found a relatively secluded booth at the popular coffee shop – no small feat on a crowded Saturday morning, Annie suspects. When she and Auggie arrive there are already two laptops open on the table in front of them. 'Business meeting' shouts the picture.

Auggie, once they are seated, adds his computer to the collection. Annie is almost tempted to pull her iPad out of her purse so she doesn't stand out quite so much. Instead she seats herself opposite Auggie, being the person at the table who least needs access to his laptop.

Auggie takes the lead in the discussion. He starts by giving Sindi an overview of their mission as a whole – the highlights, the need-to-know stuff, the names and roles of the various players in the story. Enough to contextualize their findings.

Annie, already privy to the information, entertains herself by closely observing the interactions between Jonathan and his striking girlfriend. Or maybe ex-girlfriend. Despite her efforts, however, Annie cannot work out how well (or badly) the conversation between Jonathan and Sindi had gone the night before. The two of them conduct themselves completely professionally throughout the meeting, giving nothing away. There is no obvious affection between them, but no ice either. Just calm neutrality.

As befits the circumstances.

Sindi Ncube, it would appear, is a pragmatic woman. She has obviously seen this meeting for what it is - an opportunity for two different teams with overlapping agendas to cooperate, each achieving their own ends as a result of that.

Whether or not she feels betrayed by her boyfriend doesn't seem to be a factor in the equation at all.

Annie turns her attention back to Auggie. He has moved on to taking Sindi (on a need-to-know basis) through the evidence they've gathered – the inadmissible stuff – phone taps, bugs, photographs taken during sweeps through houses, from cracked safes. Evidence that points to the two people that sit in the area of overlap between their objectives and hers – Christiaan Du Buisson and Karola King.

"And I think we have a way for you to get to Du Buisson at least." Auggie tells Sindi. "Legally. Using concrete evidence from the practice. Obtained with the consent of Jaco Bouwer - consent he's willing to expand to the South African Police Service."

Sindi leans forward, elbows on the table – chin resting on the backs of her interlaced fingers. "I'm listening," she says, eyes trained on Auggie.

He wastes no time.

"We have concrete evidence that Leeza Ford has been illegally purchasing M99 through the practice for the last two and a half years," he says. "Evidence that she has attempted, but failed, to cover up. If you can question her on the basis of that evidence you might be able to get her to roll over and implicate Christiaan Du Buisson."

"OK," Sindi nods. "Take me through it."

Auggie locates his headphones. Plugs them into his computer. Pulls them around his neck. Preparing. "The basis of it all was a simple alteration on the prescriptions written for M99 by Jaco and then faxed by Leeza through to the suppliers," he outlines. "On occasion, obviously when there was demand, Leeza would alter the number of bottles ordered simply by changing a '1' to a '4' on the prescription Jaco had written."

Sindi's listening intently. "I assume she had a way of covering this up, though. Otherwise Jaco would have picked it up by now. Isn't the stuff hideously expensive?"

"More than three thousand rand a bottle," Auggie confirms. He pushes his MacBook away from him a little, making room so that both Jonathan and Sindi can see the screen, then pulls his headphones up over his ears. "OK," he says. "Here's how she was hiding it."

Annie stands up and comes around to look over his shoulder. Auggie pulls up a screen.

"What you're seeing here, I hope," he smiles, "is a snapshot of the practice's stock control spreadsheet. I pulled this off a hard drive containing system back-ups, so this is what the spreadsheet looked like a couple of months ago. If you look down here…" he scrolls down using the arrow key – stopping when the box highlighting his position surrounds a specific row on the spreadsheet, "you'll see that on this date – March 14th, 2012 – one bottle of M99 was added to the practice stock. This matches the amount paid by Jaco for M99 that month." He stops.

"I'm with you." Sindi has leaned over, shoulder almost touching Auggie's, a look of intense concentration on her face.

"There's just one problem. We found copies of the invoice, delivery note and prescription forms amongst Michelle Bouwer's things – official copies she'd requested from the supplier. All of those indicate that four bottles of M99 were delivered on that date."

"Wow." It's Jonathan who has spoken up this time. He pulls at his hair for a moment, a frown on his face. "So the money for the other three must have come from somewhere else."

"Yep," Auggie confirms. We know from where, but Sindi's going to need a forensic audit in order to prove it." He waves a hand. "That's for later, though." He draws a breath in preparation to continue.

"Wait. Hold on", the policewoman holds up her hands in a 'stop right there' gesture. "First let me see if I've got this straight so far." she says. She pinches her lips together for a moment and then proceeds. "So, Jaco writes a prescription for one bottle of M99 and Leeza alters it to four. Sends off the order. Four bottles arrive."

"Yeah," Auggie is nodding.

"OK. She pockets three of the bottles." Sindi pauses as if trying to order her thoughts, then continues. "She needs to hide what she's done from Jaco so she only enters one bottle – the bottle he'd ordered – onto the system. And pays for one bottle from the practice account. The other three bottles are paid for from a separate bank account. That way there's no suspicious increase in expenditure on drugs in any one month …" She tails off. Musing. "Wasn't there a risk Jaco would have noticed the four bottles on the invoices and receipts, though?" she asks.

"They weren't in the filing cabinets," Annie interjects. "That's why we think the copies we found at Michelle's place were significant. When I checked yesterday morning, they still weren't there."

"Yesterday?" The policewoman has picked up Annie's slight emphasis on the word.

"That's where this comes in…" Auggie pulls up another screen. "This is what I got yesterday off the practice's system." The screen looks identical to the one they'd just been looking at except for the line Auggie had highlighted on the previous sheet. On that date, on the current copy of the spreadsheet, four bottles are listed as added to the stock. "You spotted the difference yet?"

"I have," says Sindi. "I'm not getting why, though?"

Auggie pulls his headphones down around his neck. "Would it help if I told you that this morning Trix Purdon, Jaco's clinical assistant, pulled the invoice, prescription, delivery note and receipt for that order out of the practice filing cabinet?"

"So they were put in there sometime between yesterday morning and this morning. And Leeza Ford was there yesterday afternoon," Sindi says thoughtfully.

"In a call between Christiaan Du Buisson and Karola King last night," Annie supplies an additional clue, "Christiaan said something about Leeza having everything back in order. We're pretty sure this is what he was talking about."

Sindi Ncube sits back in her chair, arms folded, still staring at Auggie's screen thoughtfully. She takes her time. Then she leans forward. "When do you start seeing the differences between the back-ups and what's on the system now?" she asks.

Annie watches the lines around Auggie's eyes deepen. Sindi Ncube is right there with him, and he likes it. "June 21st this year," he tells her, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Sindi nods as if he's confirming what she'd already guessed. "Just after Jaco Bouwer left for Namibia."

"Yep." Auggie is nodding now. Sindi looks away from the screen and at him. For the first time there's a hint of a smile around her mouth too.

"This ties back to the dead poacher, doesn't it?" she says. "The one whose prints were found in Jaco Bouwer's house after the murder of his wife." She's done her homework.

"It does." Auggie has placed his hands palms down on the table in front of him. "That's when things started getting sticky. Suddenly, after two and a half years of their supply chain running smoothly, Jaco starts poking around his wife's things and hiring private detectives."

Annie can see the realization dawning on Sindi Ncube's face. "And suddenly we find a bottle of 'Jaco's' M99 at a poaching site. And as soon as Jaco's out of town the practice records are quietly 'rectified'." She makes quotation marks in the air.

Pauses.

Looks at Auggie, then Annie, then Jonathan.

Leans back in her chair.

She's reached the same conclusion they have.

"They're framing Jaco Bouwer," she says.


	31. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER 30**

* * *

_Saturday June 28th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa._

Detective Sergeant Sindisiwe Ncube – who just happens to have decided to spend a few hours of her Saturday catching up on paperwork – answers the Anti-Poaching Task Force's phone when it rings at eight minutes before two in the afternoon.

As planned.

The call is from a veterinarian based in Rosebank who has suddenly become aware that bottles of M99 are being fraudulently purchased through the practice at which she works.

The vet tells the police officer that she is aware that M99 is being increasingly used in the poaching of rhinos, and that is the reason she has specifically contacted this particular unit within the police service. She has concrete evidence in her possession which (with permission from her boss) she is prepared to hand over to the police. She gives her name as Dr. Theresa Purdon. And that of her boss as Dr. Jaco Bouwer.

Sindisiwe agrees to meet with Theresa Purdon immediately.

The call is recorded.

* * *

Outside the small secure housing complex in which Leeza Ford has her home, Auggie Anderson, Annie Walker and Jonathan Stone wait quietly in Jonathan's small, silver, Honda Civic for the initiation of the next stage in their plan.

Sindi Ncube is wearing a wire and has an earpiece fitted into her ear. Both provided to her by Auggie Anderson. The same ones used by Annie Walker when she had entered Christiaan Du Buisson's house the evening before.

Sindi's voice penetrates the silence in the car. "Ringing the doorbell now."

Auggie feels his heart-rate increase slightly. Anticipation. "We read you, Sindi," he tells the young policewoman. "Good luck," he adds.

It's only a short wait before they hear the words they've been waiting for: "Leeza Ford? I'm Detective Sergeant Sindisiwe Ncube. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you. May I come in?"

* * *

It doesn't take long after being presented with the evidence for Leeza Ford to confess to her part in the illegal purchase of M99. All it takes is the evidence Auggie had given Sindi, as well the practice work roster – clearly showing that Leeza was the only person who had been at the practice on all the dates when discrepancies had occurred.

She admits, on record, (having given consent earlier that the interview be recorded) to having altered the prescriptions and falsified the practice records.

It's when it comes to the question of why she'd done it that things stop running smoothly. "I sold it to farmers who didn't want to have to call vets in to move their animals. I was struggling to get by. It was easy money." She's scared. Auggie can hear it in her voice. But she's stubborn.

Damn. So this is how she's going to play it. Auggie sighs. Sits back in the passenger seat, arms folded, mouth pulled into a grim line. He will intervene later if necessary, but this is Sindi's show for now. He's merely audience. As are Jonathan and Annie – next to and behind him.

"Which farmers?" Sindi probes. "Can you give me names?"

No reply.

"All right," says Sindi after a short while. She sounds unperturbed. "I guess we'll get back to that question later then. For now let's try this one: Who paid for the M99, Leeza?"

"I did." The response comes back quickly. Leeza's willing to answer that one.

Sindi leaps on it. "When we check your back accounts will they show that? When we ask Big Five Pharmaceuticals, will their records confirm that?" Nicely done.

There's a silence. Then Leeza says, "I paid for them out of a different account." Hesitant. A tremor in her voice.

"One in your name?"

Leeza gets stubborn again. Silence.

"I'm going to take that as a no, then," Sindi informs her interviewee. "Whose name, Leeza?" she continues. "You may as well tell me. We're going to find out soon enough."

Leeza remains stubbornly uncommunicative.

_Different tack, Sindi_, Auggie silently urges the policewoman.

He is not disappointed. "The practice employment records show that you have worked for the practice for six years. Is this correct?" She's matter-of-fact – inviting the same kind of answer.

"Yes it is." Leeza sounds more confident.

"How did you get the job?"

"I saw an advertisement. I responded to it."

A beat. Sindi waits. Drawing out the moment. "That's interesting, Leeza," she says eventually, a touch of irony in her voice, "because Jaco Bouwer told me that you were recommended to him by his brother-in-law, Christiaan Du Buisson. A man with whom you were in a relationship at the time." She pauses - maybe trying to gauge Leeza's response. "Hmm…" she continues - tone thoughtful. "Why are you lying to me, Leeza?" There's a slight rustle as if Sindi has shifted position. _Using her body language?_ Auggie wonders. _Probably_.

"OK," Sindi's voice fills the vehicle again. The word is drawn out – exaggerated patience. "Now you've made me curious. Suddenly I feel I need to know more about this relationship."

"I don't see what it has to do with anything." Leeza is sounding scared.

"Ah, but you've made me think it has," Sindi argues. "Why else would you lie about it?" She shifts again. Pauses. Clears her throat. "All right, Leeza," she says. She sounds confrontational now. Voice hard. "I'm going to stop playing games here. I'm going to tell you what I already know about your relationship with Mr. Du Buisson. I know that it ended not long after you began work at the practice, but that you rekindled it about two and a half years ago. I know that you have told at least two people that it is serious – that you plan to marry. Is this correct?"

"Yes." Leeza's voice is barely audible.

"And two and a half years ago, just after you and Du Buisson started seeing each other again you began to illegally remove M99 from Jaco Bouwer's practice. Quite a coincidence, isn't it? Can you see why I'm finding this interesting?"

Next to Auggie, Jonathan Stone huffs out something akin to a laugh through his nose. A pleased sound. Auggie feels his mouth tilting in response. _Yeah, Jonathan. She's good, your girl._

Leeza, once again refuses to comment, despite Sindi giving her ample opportunity.

Sindi rephrases her question. Goes for the kill. "Leeza Ford, did Christiaan Du Buisson ask you to do what you have already confessed to doing? Did he ask you to illegally acquire a Schedule 6 drug, namely Etorphine – also known as M99 – for him?"

"No." Leeza's voice is quiet. Sullen.

_He's not worth it, Leeza,_ Auggie wants to shout at her.

Sindi pushes on. "Are you aware that the offence you have admitted to carries a penalty of up to a million rand fine or ten years in jail?"

No reply.

"Leeza," Sindi speaks gently again, "if you were acting as an accomplice – if you were not the instigator of the crime – you will be in a lot less trouble." A beat. "I'm going to ask you again." Empathetically. "Did Christiaan put you up to this?"

"No." But it's less emphatic. Maybe even a little fearful.

There's the sound of Sindi adjusting her body position again. Auggie finds himself leaning forward. An instinct borne of years of conducting similar interviews. Intruding into personal space. Increasing the pressure. He wonders, amused at himself, if he's mirroring what Sindi is doing. "Why are you covering for him, Leeza?" Sindi asks. "Is he really worth it?"

"I'm not," Leeza says. And then she shuts down completely. "I don't want to answer any more questions." She sounds close to tears.

Auggie and Annie sigh at the same time. Jonathan clears his throat.

_The crazy things people do for love_, thinks Auggie.

Sadly.

Because he knows the time has come to shatter Leeza Ford's world.

"Sindi," he says into the microphone that will transmit to her earpiece, "I think you're gonna have to go for it." He leans back completely – head against the headrest, eyes closed - not really wanting to be witness to the next part of the conversation.

He also turns off the recording device.

Through Sindi's wire comes rustling and shuffling and then the policewoman's voice. "You have every right to refuse to answer questions," she says, "but I'm going to show you a few things. If after that you still don't want to answer my questions, don't want to try and help yourself, I'll accept that, OK?"

More rustling. "This is a photograph of a woman named Karola King and her young son. She has business dealings with Christiaan through RhinoForce. I'd like you to look particularly closely at the child."

There's a long pause.

Then movement against the wire again. "And this is a copy of Christiaan Du Buisson's most recent will. You'll note that it's a simple will. He leaves all his earthly possessions to Karola King's son, Lukas – with Mrs. King as trustee until the boy is twenty-one."

This time the silence lasts even longer.

Then Sindi pulls out the big gun. "Lastly," she says to Leeza, "I'd like you to listen to this. It's a recording made of Christiaan talking on the phone to a number we have confirmed to be that of Mrs. Karola King." She's fabricated the 'we have confirmed' part, but the truth remains. "The call was made on Thursday night."

The sound of the recording Auggie had transferred onto Sindi's phone reverberates through the small car.

It's when Christiaan Du Buisson calls Karola King "Liefie" that Leeza Ford breaks.

* * *

Sindisiwe watches the pretty, blond woman crumble in front of her with mixed emotions. On the one hand she feels the undeniable satisfaction of having achieved precisely what she'd set out to achieve. On the other hand she feels the inevitable regret that she'd had to destroy someone's world (albeit a counterfeit world) in order to do it.

"We're recording again." Auggie Anderson's voice in her ear.

Leeza - stunned, pale - tells Sindi, at her prompting, that Christiaan had asked her to begin to restore the practice records as soon as Jaco had left for Namibia.

"He said Jaco had found out. That we'd all be in trouble. That we needed to make it look like Jaco had done it." The words seem to tumble out of the young woman's mouth, as if Leeza has no power over them. Too weary to stop them. Too shattered to care. "So I changed all the records on the computer. I didn't think about the filing cabinet. But when he called me yesterday to check what I'd done, he spotted my mistake. Told me to fix it. Said I had to get it done that day." She stops to draw a breath. "He said we might get police sniffing around next week. But that I mustn't worry. That as long as everything would be sorted out by Sunday we'd be OK."

A strange spark comes into her eyes. "I'd kept all those papers. Had them in a box at home… " She pauses. Purses her lips. "He called me a hoarder. OCD. He'd mock me about it." She coughs out a bitter laugh. "It wasn't meant as a compliment." She makes eye contact with Sindi for the first time. "But I remember feeling good about it for once." She smiles. A sad smile. "When I went back home to fetch them. When I filed them all in the right places. For Christiaan. I remember thinking he'd finally be happy about it."

Sindi gives the woman a sympathetic look. "You both thought you'd covered your tracks," she comments. "But you'd forgotten about the hard drive with the back-ups."

Leeza nods. "I don't think Christiaan knew about the back-ups," she says, "and I didn't know the software we use stores old back-ups. I assumed it just wrote each back-up over the previous one." She shrugs. "So even if I had thought about it I probably wouldn't have said anything." She's more composed now, but emotionless rather than calm. Resigned.

"And the bank account?" Sindi feels somewhat merciless, but she also knows that she needs to try and extract as much from Leeza now as she can. While the woman's resistance is gone. Before she can start second-guessing herself.

"The bank account wasn't a problem," Leeza tells her. "Christiaan opened it under his brother's name. Using Jean-Paul's old ID. And registered to Michelle and Jaco's address. The P.O. Box listed as the postal address was also in Jean-Paul's name." She stops. As if realizing something. "He said he opened the account because Jean-Paul had asked him to do it. Said he wanted a South African account for business purposes, but couldn't get one. Because he's a British citizen. Christiaan said Jean-Paul didn't mind us using his account as long as we didn't steal his money. He thought that was funny." She shakes her head. "We made cash deposits for the right amount every time we needed to. Using ATMs."

_So there was no trail back to any of you. Except Jaco and Michelle._

"Didn't all the secrecy make you suspicious?" Sindi asks her.

"It made me feel protected," Leeza admits, "and I didn't think what we were doing was all that bad. We weren't really hurting anyone."

That makes Sindi pause. 'Weren't really hurting anyone'? What did you think Christiaan was doing with the M99, Leeza?

She puts the question to the young woman. Intuiting what's coming. Feeling another wave of compassion for the person sitting slumped in the couch in front of her, as pale as the cream leather of her seat.

"He said we were just making a bit of money on the side. Helping farmers who didn't have the cash to pay vets to move their animals. Said it was a win-win situation for both sides."

"And you believed him?"

"Shouldn't I have?" It's almost perfunctory. As if the question is being asked because that's what's expected. As if Leeza has no real interest in the answer.

_Does she really not care, or is she just too exhausted to?_

"No, Leeza, you shouldn't have," Sindi shakes her head slowly, watching the emotionally spent woman in front of her. "Christiaan wasn't selling the M99 you got for him to game farmers." She takes a breath. "He's been supplying it to a syndicate of rhino poachers."

Leeza Ford reels, so pale now she's almost transparent.

And then she weeps.

* * *

Despite the regret he feels as he listens to Leeza Ford slowly going to pieces under Sindi Ncube's adroit questioning, Auggie, naturally, finds himself urging the detective on.

The relief in the car when it's all over - when Leeza caves, when they have in their possession a recording (carefully edited, but legally admissable) of Leeza's confession and her incrimination of Christiaan Du Buisson - is palpable. Next to him Jonathan releases a long, slow breath. Auggie wonders just how long the man had been holding it.

Annie, too, has made an exclamation of relief, but she, being Annie, is already looking ahead.

"We need to make sure Leeza can't contact Christiaan if she has a sudden change of heart," she says.

"Can't Sindi just arrest her?" Jonathan asks.

"Not ideal," explains. "Never mind the fact that she'd be stuck in a cell till Monday, we have less control over who she contacts, and who they contact."

"Besides," says Annie, "you said Sindi's worried that there may be someone in her unit being paid to look away. An arrest in connection with M99 may send up a fed flag. It's too risky." She's arguing in that way that he knows all too well. Her 'I-have-an-idea-and-now-I'm-going-to-sell-it-to-you' type of argument.

He waits for her to prove him right.

She does not disappoint.

"I have a better idea," she says.

Auggie wishes he had someone he could high five.

Based on the information Leeza Ford has given them, and the suggestion relayed to her by Auggie Anderson, Sindisiwe Ncube does three things.

The first thing she does is act on the advice from Annie – the advice passed on to her by Auggie. She calls Trix Purdon. Trix is, as Annie has said she will be, delighted to help.

"Witness protection duty?" she says, her voice impish down the line, "Is that a classy way of saying 'baby-sitting'?" She laughs. "You've definitely called the right person," she continues, "I'm all about babies at the moment. Doubt I'll even notice one more." She pauses a little before she goes on. Her voice sobers. "I suspect Leeza needs a friend more than a bodyguard right now, though," she says. "I'm happy to be both."

The second thing Sindi does is contact a trusted friend. A lawyer friend with a sound knowledge of criminal procedure, who also happens to have an uncle who is a magistrate. She needs advice on how to legally obtain a search warrant for each of Christiaan Du Buisson's properties and the three vehicles registered to him – bearing in mind her concerns regarding possible corruption within her unit.

The friend comes through for her.

Sindi sets in motion applications for the warrants, bypassing the unit altogether.

Her third undertaking is to book two last-minute seats on a flight, departing later that night, to Nelspruit in Mpumalanga.

Leeza's story has confirmed what they'd already suspected – that something is being planned for Sunday.

Something not good.

Something involving Jaco.

And Jaco is going to be with Christiaan Du Buisson at Lalaphanzi – the Du Buisson's Mpumalanga property - on Sunday.

Sindi's father will collect her and Jonathan from the airport at Nelspruit and take them to Sindi's parents' home in the staff village at Skukuza - the main camp of the Kruger National Park.

The tracker on Christiaan Du Buisson's car has confirmed that he (or at least his vehicle) is indeed already at his family's exclusive private lodge. The property is one of the few private reserves situated within the borders of the Kruger Park. And so, using the 'no-entry, no-tourist' back-roads reserved for rangers, vets, security and maintenance staff, Sindi and Jonathan have the (albeit not quite legal) ability to reach Christiaan's property through the park within half an hour. If anything should happen requiring them to do so. And assuming no wildlife blockades such as elephants on the road.

Skukuza's relative proximity to the town of Hazy View is also important to her.

Because on Sunday morning that's where she's going to go looking for Karola King.

Sindi decides to take Annie with her as an extra precaution when she transports Leeza Ford to Trix's home.

* * *

Leeza has consented to the arrangement, and has confirmed that she understands that if she is discovered trying to contact Christiaan Du Buisson in any way (and this includes leaving Trix's property unsupervised by Trix) Sindi will arrange for her immediate arrest – with an added charge of aiding and abetting.

This leaves Jonathan and Auggie alone in Jonathan's car.

"Can I give you a ride home?" the young agent asks Auggie.

It's when they arrive at Christiaan Du Buisson's place that Auggie realizes he has no way in. No legal one, anyway. Annie has the remote for the gate and the keys for the cottage with her, in her purse.

"No sweat," Jonathan says to him, "I'll just park here until Sindi drops Annie off."

He reverses out of Christiaan's driveway and drives a little way down the road before he pulls over. "Playing it safe," he tells Auggie. "An alert to Christiaan's security company might lead to an attempted call from Christiaan to Leeza…"

Auggie has no issues with caution. "Better safe than sorry," he says.

Once parked, Auggie unfastens his seatbelt and shifts a little – stretching out his back and legs. He hears the click next to him of Jonathan doing the same.

There's a small silence. Auggie breaks it.

"Your girl did good, today," he says. He twists his body to face Jonathan – his back against the door, right leg bent and slightly pulled up.

"Yeah." Auggie can hear the other man's smile. Gratification. "It's the first time I've really seen her in action like that," Jonathan says. "I didn't have a doubt she could do it, but…" he tails off.

"…but watching it happen is different than hearing about it?" Auggie finishes for him.

"Yeah," Jonathan says. "Exactly that."

"I get to do it a lot," Auggie finds himself saying. "How it goes when you're someone's handler."

"You're Annie's handler?" Jonathan asks. He sounds a little surprised.

"Most of the time," Auggie says, "yeah."

"Oh." Definitely surprised. A beat. "I probably should have guessed that," he says, "but the dynamic between you two…"

"…is weird?" Auggie finishes another of Jonathan's sentences for him.

Jonathan laughs. "That's not exactly the word I was looking for," he says, "but yeah, I've really been struggling to figure out what the relationship is between you two."

Auggie pulls a face. "Join the club," he says. He sighs. "Things are pretty…undefined between us right now," He admits. Then he turns the spotlight around quickly. Before he has to expound on that any more. "Speaking of which," he says, "I've been wondering how it went between the two of you last night. I mean, you seemed OK today…"

"We are," Jonathan says. "Amazingly." He gives a half-laugh. "I mean, here I was all worked up, thinking that it would be the end of us, but she was genuinely OK about it all." There really is wonderment in his voice. "I don't know if it's because she's a cop – because she gets the concept of undercover work, confidentiality, all that kind of thing…" He goes quiet for a moment. "The tough part was telling her the implications of it – the whole 'no dating foreign nationals'…"

"What did she say?"

"She didn't seem fazed at all," says the young agent. "Just said 'If it's meant to be it'll be.'"

Auggie feels a wistfulness stir up in him. "I used to think that about me and Annie," he confesses. "We just seemed…" He looks around for the right word. "…inevitable at one point."

"And you weren't?" Jonathan asks.

"We were, actually," Auggie corrects him. He wrinkles his nose a little. "And then we weren't…and now we're still not, but we might be…" He huffs out a small laugh. Shakes his head. "I actually have no idea what we are, to be honest."

"So you've given up on 'if it's meant to be it'll be'?" There's a smile in the Joburg operative's voice.

"Hmm," Auggie mulls that over. "Let's just say I'm starting to think it needs a little help."

Then he grins.

"Actually," he says, "while we're on the topic, you don't have any suggestions about somewhere special I could take Annie tonight, do you?"


	32. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER 31**

* * *

_Saturday June 28th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

A car horn sounds politely just as she and Auggie walk up to Christiaan's gate.

"Our ride?" he asks her.

"I'm thinking 'yes'," she says, eyeing the bright yellow vehicle as it pulls into the drive outside the property - 'citycab' emblazoned on the side. She waves at the driver, then nudges her companion. "You gonna open the gate so we can actually get to it?"

"Gimme a minute," he mutters. He's released her arm and is patting pockets. Finally finds what he's looking for. Presses the appropriate button. The gate opens.

Annie smiles to herself. Auggie never forgets where he puts things. She wonders if it's a sign he's feeling as …weirded out by all this as she is.

The smile threatens to become a giggle. She smothers them both.

* * *

He'd refused to tell her where he's taking her, even when she'd pressed him. "I don't know what to wear," she had complained.

He'd remained unmoved. "Won't matter to me," he'd said. He'd turned around to root around in the wardrobe – putting together an outfit of his own.

She'd rolled her eyes. "Matters to me. Don't really want to get stared at because I'm wearing an opera dress at a burger joint."

That had brought him back around suddenly. "Opera dress?" he'd said slowly. "Damn. Didn't think about that." He'd pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Wonder if it's too late to change the venue. Or maybe...," a corner of his mouth twitches, "...I could just tell you we're actually going to the opera..."

Her eyeroll this time had been accompanied by a swat on his chest.

He'd grabbed her wrist. Lightning fast. "Unfair," he'd complained. "You're supposed to give me warning of attacks. I'm at a disadvantage here."

She'd looked at his hand encircling her arm. "Yeah right," she'd said. Tugged her arm free.

He'd given her a half-grin.

Then he'd relented. "Something like whatever you wore when we went out with Christiaan will be fine," he'd suggested. "Nice, but not too fancy."

She hadn't told him she'd already worked that out, based on the dark jeans and black button-down shirt he'd chosen for himself.

Her little victory had been too sweet.

* * *

He's brought her to a place called The Orbit - a jazz club and bistro in the heart of the city. It's a young, vibrant venue in a young, vibrant part of Johannesburg. Braamfontein, according to the audio commentary on the bus the day before, had, until recently, been run down, derelict, despite its proximity to the esteemed University of the Witwatersrand. Now it's once again popular, arty and trendy - a beneficiary of the urban renewal so evident in the city. It had amused her then, as they'd driven through the city, how typical of Joburg even the renewal had been – not radiating out from any one area, as if planned, but chaotic, haphazard, unexpected.

"It's lovely," she tells Auggie as they walk into the bistro. "Light colors, modern fixtures Lots of original wood - floors, oak doors."

"Has a nice feel," he comments. "Cozy, but not cluttered. Open-plan?"

She confirms it. "Reminds me a bit of your apartment, actually. Same first impression." She smiles, as the background music reaches her ears. "Even has the jazz."

There's a little ache as she says it. Undefinable. Loss or longing. Or both. Her first taste of how she knows it's going to be tonight. Inevitable with the amount of history they have. Just the nature of things.

"Bet the food's better, though," he comments.

She can't disagree. "As if that's difficult," she remarks. "Certainly doesn't look like the kind of place that has TV dinners or cereal on the menu."

It isn't. They don't even have pizza.

They order. Their waiter leaves. Auggie crinkles his eyes across the table at her. "So," he says, "What are you wearing, Miss Walker?"

She laughs. "Now you want to know?" she teases.

His face is still smiling, but there a softness there too. She moves rapidly from amused to touched.

It does matter to him.

And that matters to her.

"Dress," she outlines for him. "Navy blue. V-neck. Three quarter sleeves. Short..." He grins at that. She's half-tempted to kick him under the table. "It has a design on it in white," she continues. "A pattern. Floral. Kind of Indian." She pauses. "I've had it for a while," she adds.

She doesn't go into any detail on that.

She'd hesitated when she'd packed it. Wondering if there was maybe too much baggage associated with it. She'd been wearing it the first time she had met Henry Wilcox. She'd been wearing it when Auggie had come looking for her afterwards in the dark, at Langley, to see if she was OK.

When they'd talked about the shadowy aspects of their job for the first time.

In the end she'd packed it, anyway. A pragmatic decision, she'd told herself. It took up hardly any space. It was old. She'd be throwing it out soon.

Might as well give it one last airing.

* * *

It's so easy. Over tapas and red wine they slip into conversation so familiar it's almost as if they've hit a time-warp.

They're back at Allen's. Different venue, different food, but same friendship.

Comfortable. Simple. Safe.

How he'd hoped it would be.

"The only other time you asked what I was wearing," she sounds somewhat accusatory, "I'd just rappelled off a cliff. On a Saturday. You pulled me into work. And you told me to put on a blouse." Indignant.

"I liked your skimpy top, for the record," he defends himself. "It was the boss who didn't."

They slide back into reminiscence. So much to think back on. To laugh over.

"Remember when...?" "I thought you were..." "Joan was so..." "Arthur was really..."

"We were..."

So much togetherness.

"I knew I was in trouble on your second day, already," he tells her across the table, "when I found myself in the morgue with freezing feet, and Vincent Rossabi yelling at me to put my hands up."

She laughs. "Admit it, Auggie," she says. "Your life would have been completely boring without me."

There's a pause. His fault. The words have just penetrated too deep.

He steadies himself._ Keep it light, Anderson_.

He lays down his fork and raises his hands in the air in a gesture of concession. "I absolutely can not deny that," he says with conviction.

She's quiet for a moment. "That's a good thing, right?" The uncertainty in her voice takes him aback a little. He winces internally.

So much for light.

_Oh well_.

"Yeah, Annie. It's a good thing." He needs her to believe it.

You're good for me, Annie. Always have been. Even now. Even after.

He cannot imagine where he would have been now if she hadn't blown into his life and turned it upside down.

Certainly not here.

He reaches out across the table, asking for her hand. She gives it to him.

"We're a good team, Walker," he says with emphasis. "Always have been. Right from the beginning."

She doesn't respond for a while. Then her sigh drifts across the table to him. "I know," she says. Quietly. Then repeats it more adamantly. "I know, Auggie. When we're working together it's like we're...I don't know...one thing. A unit. Seamless, you know?" She breaks off for a moment. "I...you have no idea how hard it was for me...then...without you." Another pause. He waits. "I felt...lost. Unsure of my decisions..." She's so hesitant. Trying to say things without really saying them.

He knows the feeling.

There are minefields between them.

She takes a breath. Sighs again. Launches. "I just don't get..." Breaks off.

He knows where she's heading. Takes the pressure off. Completes the sentence for her. "...why we never got 'us' to work like that?" He squeezes the fingers clasped in his.

"Yeah."

It's his turn to sigh. A long sigh. Full of things he hadn't been planning on talking about tonight. And isn't sure he should. Because he still hasn't got them entirely straight in his head.

But he decides to give her what he's got.

"I think," he says slowly, rubbing his thumb over the knuckle of hers, "it's because what makes each of us so good at our jobs makes us bad for each other."

She's quiet. He allows her to be. Waits.

"How d'you mean?" she asks eventually.

He scrunches up his mouth a little, trying to figure out how to lay his thoughts out for her. Coherently. Clearly.

Squeezes her hand and lets it go so he can sit back in his chair.

Huffs a breath out through his nose. Finds his wine glass. Toys with the stem of it. "I'm an information guy, Annie," he says. "I understand intel - the need to control it. I understand secrecy. Confidentiality. Need to know." He lets his glass go. Traces the edge of the table with his thumb instead. "People know that. They trust me because of it." He straightens up. Leans forward, forearms on the table. "It's what makes me a good handler. For you. Because you need someone you can trust to let you do what you do. Let you go off on your tangents." He smiles a little, thinking back to parts of their earlier discussion. Hears her slight laugh from across the table. She's remembering too. He feels his eyes crinkling. "And to keep quiet about them. To cover for you." Those cover-ups had formed quite a significant part of their reminiscing. He's had more than a few…interesting experiences thanks to her. He continues. "And you need someone who will counterbalance your tendency to trust too much. To say too much. I do that for you."

He stops there, sitting back again. Allowing her time to process. To agree or to refute.

To extrapolate.

She does. "And I wanted something different from you," she says softly.

"You did," he says. "You wanted full disclosure. And I couldn't give it to you."

"You couldn't? Or didn't want to?" The question could have sounded antagonistic, but the way she says it is almost sympathetic.

"Honestly," he tells her, after giving it some thought, "I don't know." He sighs. Finds the stem of his glass again. Traces a finger around the base. "Both maybe? I thought I wanted to...but..."

"You'd forgotten how?"

"Hmm..." He mulls that over "I dunno. Maybe? Our training teaches us the opposite. Don't make yourself vulnerable." He pauses. Knowing he should go on. Not wanting to.

_Full disclosure, Anderson_.

Grimly, he forces his way past his own defenses. "And I have to be even more careful. I've learned to be. Because I'm more vulnerable..."He hears her indrawn breath, as if she wants to interrupt him. Contradict him. Holds up a hand to stop her. "I'm just being realistic, Annie," he argues. "There are plenty of people in the building who still question whether I should be there. Whether I can do my job. No matter how much I prove myself. Who are just waiting for the first sign of weakness from me so they can say 'I told you so.' If not to get me kicked out, then at least to make sure I don't go any further..."

"They're idiots." It's so adamant it makes him smile.

"Thank you," he says. He nods an acknowledgement. Actually ends up chuckling. As does then she goes quiet. They both do.

She breaks the silence.

"But it was us, Auggie." She sounds so sad. "It was a different context."

"I know," he says. "I knew." He lifts his hands, slightly. Palms up. A gesture of helplessness. His sigh is more ragged than he'd been expecting. Than he's comfortable with. "I..." He stops. Sucks in a steadying breath. "I guess I just don't like going back all that much. There's...too much stuff..." He sighs again. "It's just easier not to talk about it. To think about it."

In fact even just talking about thinking about it is uncomfortable. Once again he can feel himself instinctively wanting to withdraw. He forces himself to lean forward as a physical way to resist the impulse. Rests his forearms on the table in front of him, hands clasped together. "So I don't. And yeah, I guess it's become a habit now," he says, ruefully. "Years and years of keeping things locked down all the time... I don't even think about it anymore. It's automatic. Like driving a car." He stops. "Except...well..." He laughs. Shrugs. She rewards him with a small, amused, eye-roll-type grunt from opposite him.

He's grateful for the opportunity for one of his jokes. Needs the levity.

And at the same time he has to acknowledge that he uses them as form of cover-up too. Diversion.

"Well," she says, her chair making a small creaking sound, "for someone with information control issues, you're doing OK tonight." A hand - her hand - covers his interlaced fingers on the table in front of him. Squeezes. Withdraws. He sends a smile in return.

They sit in a slightly awkward silence.

"More wine?" she asks.

"Sure." He pushes his glass over.

There's the clinking and distinctive swirl of sound as she refills their glasses from the bottle still on their table. His glass is returned to him. "Thanks." He takes a sip.

"So," she says bravely, "What about me?"

He'd been half hoping she wouldn't go there. That they'd be able to escape back to the lighter talk of earlier. But it seems that she's not going to let him off that easily. He tries, though. "What about you?"

"Oh, come on Auggie," she says, voice laced with just a hint of annoyance, "Don't do that."

"You really wanna know?"

She makes a vexed sound in the back of her throat. "I wouldn't have asked..."

He sighs. Takes a breath. "OK," he says. "Here goes. You take chances, Annie. You go for things with utter commitment. Once you're in, you're in. You're reckless." He pauses. Wanting a response from her. She's completely silent. Agreeing? Disagreeing? Angry? Processing?

This is when not being able to see can be really frustrating.

He barrels on. "It's what I love about working with you." He shrugs. "You're so driven. You're exciting. You're unpredictable. You have incredible instincts. And they gel with mine." He can feel the smile developing on his face. "And that's...pretty amazing." He pauses. "And you get the wins, Walker. I really love that." He feels for his glass. Takes another sip of his wine.

Waits for it.

"But?"

There it is.

"But you leave me behind."

The ache of it - of having to express it - is…agonizing. As is the wait for her response.

When it comes it's quiet. "I know," she says, "I know I do." There's something like regret underneath the words. "I…just…I don't think sometimes. A lot of the time, I guess. I just…go." She pushes air out through her nose. A kind of sigh. "It's something I learned young. Army brat survival tactic, I think." A beat. "It's…" She huffs out a half laugh, "...how I roll." The laugh is an acknowledgement that she's borrowed his own words about her. He feels his eyes crinkle in response. "I guess you're not the only one with bad habits." She reaches across the table again - he can hear that distinctive creak of her chair - and puts her hands over both of his.

Around them people talk, eat, walk - the sounds blending together with the soft music filling spaces in the room. It's not live yet - though it will be soon. He can hear the setting up and tuning sounds coming from the floor above them. He's looking forward to that. To sharing that with her. Jazz has so often filled spaces between them too.

And then she speaks again. In earnest.

"I'm sorry, Auggie." she says.

"Me too." He means it.

He turns her hands over so he can link them with his. She starts absentmindedly rubbing her thumbs along the edges of his hands.

_Annie Walker, you're gonna kill me_.

"Are we crazy to be even thinking about doing this, Auggie? Heading in this direction again?"

So they are heading in this direction? He honestly hadn't been sure. Just to hear her say it...something inside him he hadn't even realized was knotted loosens.

"Probably," he responds. Quirks up one corner of his mouth. "But that's not exactly out of character for us, is it?" He gives her a wry smile and then his full focus. Sober. "I know this, though, Walker. If all we're dealing with here is bad habits, then we have a shot. Habits can be broken." He squeezes her fingers. "We just have to want to. Figure out how to."

Upstairs the ensemble begins their set - interrupting the reverie. It's a carefree, easy song they've started off on - perfect for lifting the mood. A walking bass-line, the relaxed voice of Tutu Puoane gliding over the swinging rhythm of the piano and drums. Lilting English mixed with her native language.

Africa.

Them.

Auggie squeezes Annie's hands lightly again before letting them go.

He grins at her. "This is some first date, Miss Walker." He puts his hands on the table edge. Ready to push his chair back. To take her upstairs.

She laughs. "It was bound to be," she says. The smile's so evident. "I'm thinking there probably aren't all that many couples who go through the break-up before their first date."

Or have worked together like us? Been together, slept together? Done whatever-this-is we're doing now?

"Meh," he waves a hand dismissively. "Who wants to be normal?"

Freezes.

_Shit. Land mine._

'For people like us there is no normal.'

The words that had ended their relationship all those months before.

Loaded words.

He imagines her frozen too. But she isn't.

She _isn't._

"Do you still think that matters?" Her voice soft. Genuinely asking. Responding to the unspoken words.

He allows the music and the relief to dictate the tone of his reply. "Right now?" he responds. "On our first date? Nah." He grins at her. "Way too early to be worrying about things like that."

He pushes away from the table. Stands. Holds out a hand to her. "And there's music upstairs," he adds.

She laughs. Her chair shifts. His hand is taken.

As they start up the stairs the band moves on to the next song. The lyrics come drifting down to them. Penetrating. Clear.

_"...over time I've found new ways to be,_

_leaving all my old habits behind,_

_leaving all my old habits behind..."_

Auggie shakes his head. A little disbelieving. A lot amused.

"D'you get the feeling the universe might be trying to tells us something, Walker?" he asks.

* * *

She finds a tiny table for them. Out of the way. In the back of the room. Against a wall.

She fetches them more wine.

He sips his. She places hers on the table in front of them.

The music is so easy, so mellow, so sweet. A gorgeously simple blend of crisp piano, double bass, unobtrusive drumming and Tutu's voice of – pouring out, in each song, her mesmerizing blend of reworked classics and African music. And jazz. The foundation of it all.

Each genre different, distinct, but gorgeously synergistic.

Auggie puts his glass. Pulls her chair alongside his. Drapes his arm over the back of her chair, then shifts it to rest on her shoulders. To hold her.

And it's so easy to just lie against him. To revel in the feel of his thumb idly drawing circles on her shoulder.

He shifts a little. She twists to look up at him.

He has leaned his head back against the wall behind him. Closed his eyes. Listening. Feeling. He's felt her stir. Allows a smile to lift the corners of his mouth, but doesn't move otherwise.

She resettles. Closes her eyes too. Tries to allow herself to emulate him. To just be. To be absorbed in the moment like he is.

To be absorbed by the feel of him.

But the fear that keeps rising, keeps causing her to put distance between them pushes up again.

Panic.

_I'm too close. Too close. I want him too much._

Her craving is so strong. He's a drug. An addiction. It's the same thing all over again. One taste and she'll never want to stop. She won't be able to leave with herself intact. It's the thing she has always feared more than anything else. Ever since she was a child. Leaving part of herself behind. Losing part of herself.

He's potentially lethal. She knows that. She had risked a drink once before and when she'd had to stop it had nearly killed her. And she honestly doesn't know if she can survive another dose.

She starts to pull away. His hand tightens around her shoulder. The panic rises.

And then another song begins - a variation on a Joni Mitchell classic. Wistful. Poignant. Haunting. Austere.

The music floats over to her. Swirls around her like smoke. Full-bodied, velvet, with an African soul; but layered on a stark base - pure, uncluttered, honest.

And the lyrics. Oh the lyrics. Almost unbearable.

_"…I drew a map of Africa_

_Oh Africa_

_With your face sketched on it twice._

_Oh you're in my blood like holy wine_

_You taste so bitter and so sweet…"_

Each layer of the song is distinct. Unique. But the whole? That is full. Balanced. Integrated. A new thing all of its own.

Joni had written the song about lost love. About addiction. About the rip in the soul that comes with parting. She knows that.

And yet here, in this place, it becomes a song about taking another chance.

_"…Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling._

_Still I'd be on my feet._

_Oh I would still be on my feet."_

Maybe not a case. Not yet. But a glass? Should she risk that?

When she reaches for hers on the table in front of her it feels like a prayer.

And when she drinks from it it's a symbol. A commitment. A promise.

Almost a sacrament.

* * *

He takes her home.

And when his cane finds the step leading to the front door he stops. Turns to face her. Leans the cane against his shoulder so he can hold out his hands to her.

An invitation.

She accepts. Gives him hers.

He draws her a little closer. "Thank you," he says simply.

He traces his hands up her arms. She stays still. Not rigid - trusting.

He swallows. Finds her face, cups it in his hands. She reaches up a hand too. Traces his cheekbone with her thumb. He lowers his head. She meets it. Their foreheads press together. He smiles to himself It's become their version of looking into each other's eyes. Just theirs.

"You're beautiful, Miss Walker," he says. His voice is husky. Betrays him.

And he kisses her.


	33. Chapter 33

**PART FOUR**

* * *

**MPUMALANGA, SOUTH AFRICA**

* * *

**CHAPTER 32**

_Sunday June 29th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

He allows her to sleep for as long as is feasible. Eventually, though, he has to disturb her.

Perching carefully on the edge of the bed he finds her shoulder. She is lying on her side – her back towards him.

"Annie?" He shakes her very gently.

"Mm?" She stirs. Sighs. Then rolls over onto her back. He moves his hand away. "Hi," she says. Her voice is full of sleep and smile. Again something bubbles up deep inside him. He gives whatever it is permission to diffuse, more than a little amused by himself. What's one more ingredient?

This one feels a lot like deep contentment. Added to the disbelief (the good kind), urgency, ecstasy, awe and tranquility he's already mixed together during the night. There's quite a concoction brewing in there. He finds himself hoping that at least some of the components are canceling each other out – slightly concerned that unless they are this involuntary cocktail may turn out to be of the Molotov variety. There have already been one or two moments where he's wondered if he was going to explode. Right now, all it's doing is making him smile back at her.

"Hi," he returns. "How'd you sleep?"

"Quantity or quality?"

His smile becomes a grin. His Annie Walker. Even groggy, and very likely hung over, she's still got the comebacks.

"Your choice," he says.

"Hmm," she muses. "I'm gonna go for 'quality over quantity' then, so I can say 'Very well, thank you.'…Because the other way around…" She leaves that hanging.

"Great," Auggie proclaims as seriously as he can, knowing though that his eyes are giving him away. He gives up. Grins again. "On all counts." He winks. She laughs. Just under his ribcage something stirs again - threatening to add yet another ingredient to his cocktail.

Annie has started pulling herself up into a sitting position. "What time is it?" she asks.

"Seven-thirty."

She gasps at that. "Auggie," she says, sounding slightly panicked, "we have to go in less than an hour." Her slow sitting becomes rapid elevation - which then becomes a groan.

"Head?" he asks, trying to sound sympathetic, but succeeding only in sounding amused.

She grunts in response and then starts moving once again – he assumes making another attempt to extract herself from the covers. He finds an arm and restrains her. "Coffee first," he says, "and aspirin." He lets her go but with a firm admonishment to "Wait here."

"Auggie," she argues, as he stands. Not unexpectedly. She's not compliant, his Annie. Ever. "I can't. We have to pack." Urgent.

"Annie," he says, mimicking her tone, "we are packed. Or at least I think so. You may wanna check I didn't miss anything important."

"You packed for me?" She sounds touched. Catches his hand.

"After the however-many-it-was glasses of wine you drank last night," he informs her, "I thought it would be best."

"Are you insinuating I drank too much?" Mock-offended, she pulls her hand away.

"Nah-uh," he replies emphatically. "From my perspective you drank just the right amount."

She throws a pillow at him.

"If you're gonna get violent," he informs her, "I'm leaving."

He moves away from the bed. Makes his way to the kitchen. Finds the tray he'd organized before he'd gone to wake her and returns to the room with it. Sets it on top of the dresser and pours her a mug of coffee from the tiny two-cup French press.

"Sorry," he says, as he hands it, and two tablets, to her. "Couldn't figure out the machine. Too many mystery buttons. Thought it was more important I produce something drinkable. Even if it only fills the mug half-way."

"Quality over quantity," she reminds him as she takes it and the headache relief from him.

Suddenly he's not thinking about coffee any more.

* * *

They wait for Jaco at the arrivals terminal. They don't have to wait long. "He's here," Annie says, placing her hand on his arm. Moments later there's the sound of Jaco's approach and Annie's smiling "Hi, Jaco."

"Laura. Hello." Her greeting is returned. Warm. Hands are shaken.

Auggie puts out his own hand, smiling. "Good to see you again," he says to the man. With genuine affection.

His hand is gripped by both of Jaco's. "It's good to see you too." His hand is shaken. "If it weren't for you I think I could have been having a very different welcome. I'm extremely grateful." Earnest. Sincere.

Classic Jaco, thinks Auggie, appreciatively. He's a subtle man, Jaco Bouwer – not effusive, not overly demonstrative – but what lies under the quiet exterior is real. Honest. Trustable.

"We aren't done yet," Auggie replies. He grins. "Don't forget Laura and I are hoping to get a Pulitzer prize outta this."

Jaco laughs. "I suppose we'd better go and find my car, then," he says.

It seems they're going to abide by a tacit agreement to not discuss the real work ahead of them yet.

This is a good moment. Let's stay here for a while.

It will take around six hours from Johannesburg to The Kruger National Park's Malelane Gate – where Sindi Ncube will be waiting to take Auggie and Annie up to the Park's Skukuza Rest Camp.

Six hours which Auggie plans to make good use of.

He has an inordinate amount of data from Christiaan's machines to sift through, financial analyses they've gotten back from Langley, phone records, and copies of the police files on M99 poaching incidents which Sindi had scanned and given them in electronic format. He's going to need to run the scans through his OCR software first, though. He'll be working solo on this trip – no Annie to skim through the things and pick out highlights for him.

They've discussed reading Jaco in on several occasions, knowing that to do so would carry very minimal risk, but 'need-to-know' has dictated they don't. He hasn't needed to know.

And so, when he suggests Annie ride up front with Jaco, he claims it's because he wants to do some work on their Otjindawa article while they drive.

"The deadline's looming," he says." The editor's gonna be breathing down our necks soon. And her breath is not pleasant." It's not a complete lie. He does have to get the damn thing done.

But it's not exactly high on his priority list.

The need to maintain their covers means that he and Annie can only reveal to Jaco the 'official evidence' Sindi Ncube has uncovered thus far. He already knows Auggie's part in detecting the cover-up at the practice as well as Trix's cooption onto 'their team', but they have not yet told him anything about Sindi's interview with Leeza and the implications of that.

And so early on during the drive they give Jaco the details– Leeza's confession, her implication of Christiaan.

Jaco's response is deep sadness. And focused on Leeza. He does not comment on his brother-in-law's involvement. No denial. No disbelief. No expression of dismay. Just acceptance. Auggie suspects that all their evidence has merely confirmed what he'd known all along.

"She is so talented. So good at what she does," he sighs. "But insecure. I suppose that's what made her vulnerable." Empathetic. The response of someone who is no stranger to the experience of shattered worlds.

"Maybe so," says Auggie, leaning forward, "but not innocent. She is going to end up paying for having fallen for the wrong guy." He sighs. He has some reassurance for Jaco, though. "She's not in a police cell, at least," he says. "The cops have her in a safe location because they don't wanna spook Christiaan into getting rid of evidence. And she's in good hands. Until this is over."

"Until tonight is over?" Jaco says.

"Yeah."

The silence that falls over them is a meaningful one. Annie has told Jaco their concerns – that Leeza's evidence had hinted that the plan to frame Jaco went further than just using the practice records. That there's a reason why Christiaan had told Leeza that the police would come calling after the weekend. That whatever that reason was, it involved Jaco.

"It's possible," Jaco had said to that. "The initial arrangement with Christiaan was that I move these animals for him in September. And then, just before I left for Namibia, he contacted me to ask if we could bring it forward. He said the buyers were in a rush."

Annie breaks the silence. "You don't have to go, Jaco," she tells him earnestly. She's as cautious about other people's safety as she is reckless about her own. "There are other options."

Auggie knows what Jaco will answer, though. The same as Auggie would have if he were in the man's shoes right now.

He's not mistaken.

"I do." Jaco's reply is firm. "I need this to be over. I need to find out exactly what's going on. And if I don't go, it will seem suspicious. As if I've found out something."

Auggie doesn't insult the vet by denying that. "Just be careful, Jaco," he says. Very seriously. "Stay in touch. And get out of there if you feel in any way threatened." He pauses. "Please," he adds.

A lull settles over them after that – that typical road-trip kind of lull – everyone immersed in their own thoughts. Auggie pulls his headphones up over his ears and gets to work.

Annie and Jaco start conversing. Snippets of their conversation - mostly about the country they are driving through - break through to Auggie from time to time. Not intrusive but…enlightening.

Jaco is being typical Jaco – knowledgeable, detailed and fascinating. His narrative is a combination of historical fact, local knowledge and personal anecdotes. He has spent time in these places. Gotten to know them and the people in them. Played in them – explored them - as a child. Worked in them as an adult. Visited them with his wife.

His stories carry with them such a sense of place. And unintentionally of Jaco, the person.

Especially the stories of home – the farm in Malelane where he had grown up.

Annie is captivated.

Auggie smiles a little to himself. It's amazing how such a quiet, unassuming man draws people in. He's glad Annie's getting to experience the Jaco he'd gotten to know in Namibia – a man of integrity, quiet passion, intentionality of action and interaction, and with genuine respect for both people and place.

And his uncanny ability to draw things out of people.

Annie is telling Jaco about her childhood – constant relocations, her reluctance to develop strong bonds with either people or any place because of the knowledge that uprooting was inevitable.

Her envy of Jaco for having had that stability. Security.

Jaco's quiet empathy. "I'm grateful for it. I've learnt not to take it for granted. And I know how easily it can be stripped away." Auggie knows he's talking about home as a person, now, too – about Michelle. "But in a strange way I think it's exactly those bonds that keep me going." He has paused. "It's hard to explain," he continues, "but somehow, as I move further away from losing Michelle, the more I'm grateful I knew how to put down roots. The pain is still there, but I have no regrets. I know I gave her everything I could while I could."

Annie is very quiet for a while. The reply to Jaco that follows her silence is wistful. "I wish I knew how to do that." She stops – her next words tagged on almost as an afterthought. "I hope one day I do."

Jaco's reply is simple, but it is everything that is needed. "I hope you do too."

Auggie realizes he has completely lost focus on what he's doing. That several minutes of text have scanned through his headphones and he's heard none of it.

He pauses the feedback so he can think, because something has started stirring from deep down. A realization of what it is about Jaco that pulls people in - not a magnetic, charismatic personality; not wit or charm, but courage. He's a man who knows himself. Who is secure enough within himself to be able to risk. To risk in the way that says – 'I'm not afraid to make myself vulnerable to you.' And allows vulnerability in return.

He finds himself echoing the words Annie had just said to Jaco. Within himself. In one particular context.

_I wish I could find a way to do that._

_I hope one day I do._


	34. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER 33**

* * *

_Sunday June 29th, 2014_

_Mpumalanga, South Africa_

Both Sindi and Jonathan are waiting for them at the southernmost entrance gate to South Africa's largest wildlife preserve – the renowned Kruger National Park. Annie introduces Sindi to Jaco as 'Detective Sergeant' and Jaco to Sindi as 'our friend'. Sindi chooses to introduce Jonathan as 'my boyfriend', which makes Auggie want to smile. For Jonathan's sake.

They say their goodbyes. Jaco will be proceeding on to Christiaan's place after stopping by his own farm to collect his work vehicle and equipment.

"I think we're going to have to push through to Skukuza," Sindi says apologetically after they have transferred their bags and clambered into the vehicle she has borrowed from her father. "No stopping for game, I'm afraid. We have to get there before reception closes so you can book into your accommodation. Otherwise you'll be camping on my parents' floor."

"Story of my life," Annie says pragmatically. She is sitting close enough to Auggie that he can feel the shrug. "I travel a lot in this job, but sightseeing isn't usually on the agenda."

Auggie bites his tongue. Even though the blind joke is so ready to be made.

Talk turns to shop. To Christiaan Du Buisson. Small fry is the consensus. A pawn in a much bigger game. A game, it would seem, being played masterfully by Karola King.

"She's clever," says Auggie. "I've gone again through everything Langley dug up on her and through what was in the files from you, Sindi." He sighs. "She knows how to cover her tracks. And keep things compartmentalized." He can feel the wry expression on his face. "There's nothing concrete linking her and Christiaan Du Buisson except RhinoForce. That's legit."

He leans back into the seat. Folds his arms. An attempt to ameliorate his frustration. "And she has plausible deniability on anything we have so far that's admissible." He shakes his head. "Even the contents of his safe, even once they're in evidence, only prove a personal connection…that's all. Circumstantial…"

He pauses. Another sigh escapes him. "The only thing we have is an illegally recorded phone conversation – one side of it. Even if…" he corrects himself, "…when we get hold of the phone Christiaan was using, we can't prove Karola King was on the other end. It's all conjecture."

He breaks off, aware the agitation is creeping back into his voice. "And without that link we haven't gotten all that much on Christiaan either. Nothing connecting his M99 to poaching. And there's no way he's gonna voluntarily link himself."

Annie's hand is on his arm. She's picked up on his frustration. "We'll find, something, Auggie," she says.

He takes a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I know," he says. "I just…" He sighs. Again. He's been doing a lot of that.

"Just wanted to find something that we could use before tonight?" she asks.

He nods. "Yeah," he acknowledges. "I want to keep Jaco out of this. To get to Christiaan. To force him to turn on her."

There's the sound of a throat being cleared in the front seat. "Um…" It's Jonathan. "Would it help if I told you I have the SIM card number from a phone Karola King keeps in her nightstand?" He sounds…diffident.

Auggie laughs out in sheer disbelief. "You're kidding me," he says. "How?'

Jonathan doesn't answer the how question. "I have these too," he says, shifting in his seat. "Here, hold out your hand.". He has twisted around to face them. His tone has moved on from 'slightly embarrassed' to 'quite pleased with himself'.

Auggie does as asked – reaching forward between the seats. Two thumb drives are pressed into his palm. He fingers them in semi-amazement. Frowns. Disbelief.

_What the…?_

Jonathan responds to his unspoken question. "I might have pulled some of the contents off her laptop and desktop," he says. There's a grin in his voice.

Annie is laughing, now. Maybe at Jonathan's satisfaction. Maybe at Auggie's expression. He has no doubt he is looking as stunned as he feels.

"Jonathan Stone," Annie says, in admonishing tones. "What have you been up to?"

* * *

At ten minutes past nine that morning, Karola King and her son Lukas had left Karola's home in Hazyview and driven to the Dutch Reformed church on Main Street. A discreet distance behind them an unremarkable beige Land Rover Defender had followed. Sindi Ncube had been at the wheel, Jonathan Stone beside her. Karola had pulled into the parking lot of the church. Sindi had parked on a grass verge around the corner.

Jonathan had opened the passenger door and started to climb out, reaching onto the dash for a Bible-sized, zip-close, leather book tote. For this task he'd been all on his own. South Africa, although twenty years on from the end of apartheid, still has its "whites only" pockets – not legally, naturally, but there nonetheless. Dutch Reformed churches in small towns in Mpumalanga definitely fall into that category. Jonathan (assuming he kept his mouth closed) had had a far better chance of blending in with the Afrikaner congregation than Sindi.

Fortunately, keeping his mouth closed had not been an impossible task. The setting had been stilted and formal. He'd been greeted at the door with four words in Afrikaans and a handshake. His return shake and nod had seemed more than satisfactory to the man doing the greeting. Karola King, slightly ahead of him, had been leading her son through a doorway off the foyer. The fact that other children were being towed by parents through the same door had lead Jonathan to deduce that in that direction lay the Sunday School.

He'd browsed through an unintelligible selection of tracts near the entrace until Mrs. King had re-emerged and entered the sanctuary. He'd followed and seated himself directly behind her.

During the first hymn, for which the congregation had all stood, the young visitor seated directly behind Karola King had developed an appalling fit of coughing. Initially he'd sat down. Then he'd bent over. The coughing had not stopped. Eventually, seemingly haven given up on trying to quell the coughing fit in situ, he had retrieved his Bible in its case from the floor and dashed out of the sanctuary, still coughing violently. He had exited past the bemused man at the door, and staggered out into the parking lot.

The coughing had stopped miraculously as soon as he'd been out of sight of the church.

Sindi had reached across to open the door for him. He'd clambered in and grinned at her.

"How was that?"

"Seventeen minutes," she'd replied. "Faster than either of our estimates."

"I was closer, then," Jonathan had said, tapping his cheek. "You owe me."

"Not until I have proof." She's no pushover.

He'd unzipped the bag. From inside it he'd pulled a set of keys, complete with two remotes, all on a 'King Security' key chain.

Sindisiwe Ncube had leaned across and kissed Jonathan Stone full on the mouth.

He'd handed the book in its leather carry case back to her.

"Tell your Dad thanks for the loan of the bird book," he'd said.

* * *

"From there it was easy," Jonathan tells them, winding up his tale. "Sindi thought it was unlikely a rich South African woman of Karola King's type would come home to wash the dishes and make Sunday lunch. She was right. Once we'd deactivated the perimeter alarm and I'd snuck through the gate, I checked out the kitchen and sure enough, there was a woman busy in there." He grins across at Sindi. "So, yeah. No alarm on in the house."

These two, thinks Annie, amused. She is reminded of her and Auggie's early days. The thrill of the discovery of quite how good a team they were.

"So I just picked the lock on the French doors off Karola's bedroom, and started looking around," Jonathan goes on. "The maid, it turned out, is a fan of gospel music. She had the radio blaring, was singing along, pots and pans banging and clanging. I honestly don't think she'd have heard me if I'd blown open the safe." He laughs. And then he catches himself, going quickly into professional mode. "Anyway," he says, "I found the phone in her nightstand, while I was waiting for the drives to do their business. Couldn't get past the lock screen but I knew the SIM card would give us a way to track the phone – see who it's registered to, get phone records to and from and so on…"

"Good thinking." Auggie has already pulled his laptop and headphones out from the messenger bag at his feet. He isn't going to be wasting any time getting down to having a look at what Jonathan's managed to pull off their target's computer. Annie can sense the quiet desperation in him. Mentally, for Auggie's sake – and Jaco's – she crosses her fingers and prays for a miracle.

Through the rest of the hour and a half drive she glances over at him periodically – studying his face. Hoping.

The only time Auggie's face relaxes again is when she leans over him to peer out through his window at a group of giraffes Sindi has pointed out.

That makes Auggie Anderson smile.

It's a fleeting change, though. The tension is soon back around his eyes and mouth.

The grim lines around his mouth only grow deeper.

Once settled into their tiny African-hut-shaped bungalow – 'rondavel' Sindi had called it – Auggie reports in to Langley, and returns to digging through Karola's computers. He's hoping for something - some tiny little slip-up. There almost always is one – humans are humans. The back-ups at Jaco's practice are a prime example. But Karola has been very, very careful, and, if there is something, he's just not finding it.

He only realizes Annie must have slipped out when she arrives back with a sandwich and a large cup of coffee for him. He accepts them gratefully.

"No luck?" she asks. It's rhetorical. There's no way she'll be missing the tension on his face, in his posture.

"Not yet," he tells her with a sigh. "But I'm gonna keep digging until there's no point anymore."

Until it all starts going down and Jaco's in the middle of it, in other words.

He feels her hand on his shoulder. No words accompany it – just gentle pressure.

He puts his headphones back on. Annie disappears from his world. Cut out by his focus elsewhere. Time vanishes.

And then an alert cuts across the other feedback from his machine. His awareness of space and time returns abruptly.

"Shit!" He rips his headphones off. Slams them down on the table. His gut twists.

"What?" says Annie. She's still there. He wonders briefly if she's been watching him all this time. Shakes his head at the foolishness of the thought. _Not relevant, Anderson_.

"M99's on the move," he says with a shake of his head. Deep disappointment. He searches the coffee table for his phone.

"You think this is it?" she asks him. Her voice is tense.

"Yeah." The knot in his stomach is not the usual one of excitement. Readiness to get out there. It's frustration, with himself, with the whole situation. He finds his phone on the table next to his laptop.

Annie is standing behind him now – hands on his shoulders. Probably watching the dot on his screen plotting the positions of the four GPS trackers she'd planted.

Auggie calls Sindi Ncube. He tells her the breaking news. "Yeah, just the M99…Christiaan's phone is still at Christiaan's place. So is Christiaan's BMW. Maybe someone was sent to collect it?...It's moving steadily…Between eighty and one hundred kph…main road out to Hazyview…"

"Not in a chopper then?" asks Sindi.

"No. Ground level."

"OK," says Sindi. "These guys don't use a ground crew – or they haven't up until now anyway. Choppers only. So I don't think this is M99 heading for a poach site just yet." She pauses for a moment. "My gut feeling is that it's headed for wherever that chopper is right now. So…" It's drawn out. Thoughtfully. "…Do we go after it?"

"It's had a helluva headstart," Auggie comments.

"I know." Sindi's sigh comes through clearly. "Ninety percent chance it'll be gone before we can show up." The line goes quiet for a moment. Then: "OK," she returns decisively. "I'll talk to the police in Hazyview. See if they can get someone in pursuit. And I'll see if the Kruger anti-poaching unit are willing to help out. They have a chopper." She pauses. "I think we must stay here – be ready to move if the stuff goes up in the air. Where's Jaco?"

"I'll call him next," Auggie tells her. "Appraise him of the situation."

"OK," replies the policewoman. "Sit tight. Jonathan and I will come over to you."

Jonathan and Sindi arrive at eleven thirty-six.

Auggie pulls his headphones down around his neck. Tells them the bad news. "Couldn't get hold of Jaco. He's not answering his phone."

"That's not good," comments Jonathan.

That's an understatement, Annie thinks.

"No. It isn't." Auggie's terse reply. "I'm trying to find him." He pulls his headphones back up and returns to his computer, fingers flying over the keys. Type. Pause. Type. Pause.

No one says much. They huddle around Auggie's phone instead, watching the one stationary dot representing Christiaan's BMW and the three clustered moving dots that are the M99.

Sindi stays in touch with the cops in pursuit – giving them directions as they go.

The dots stop. The cops are not close yet.

"Hang on." A heavily Afrikaans-accented voice comes through the speaker on Sindi's phone. "Let me just put this into my GPS."

They wait.

"I know this place…" The voice returns. "Old graveyard out of town off the Blyde River road. Tucked away behind the mountains. Roads are bliksemed, though. It'll take us at least half an hour to get there. Slow going in this blerrie car."

"Just try," says Sindi. "Are you armed?"

"Ja" comes the reply. "All three of us."

"Be careful," Sindi says. "We have to assume they are too. And you'll probably be outnumbered. But if you can stop them…"

"We'll do what we can."

They wait some more.

And then Auggie sits up. For the first time in a while he looks less tense. Relieved. There's even a small smile around his mouth. "I think I've found Jaco," he says. "He has a satellite tracker installed on his vehicle. I managed to hack into his vehicle recovery company's server. He's still at Christiaan's."

_Or his vehicle is_. But no one says it out loud.

Annie doesn't even bother to ask how Auggie has done it. She came to accept years ago that the man's crazy-brilliant and can do almost anything. And so all she does is put a hand on his back. "That's good," she says.

The GPS dots start moving again on Auggie's phone. In a straight line. Not following the roads. "In the air," Auggie confirms, obviously picking up the altitude on his computer.

Their cops are still not anywhere near the scene yet. Sindi sighs.

"We need to go," she says.

* * *

Annie waits for Auggie to gather his laptop, headphones and folded cane and then gives him her arm. They pile into the back of the Land Rover.

As soon as he's seated Auggie has the laptop out and open – headphones plugged into the port and over his ears. Annie scoots up to him and he turns his machine slightly so she can see the screen.

"They're heading northeast," he says. "Straight line. In the direction of…Sabi Sands?" He phrases that as a question.

Sindi's nodding, already driving out the staff exit. "I'll go up that way, then," she says. "I know a good back route." She flicks a switch on the Land Rover. The road ahead of them lights up even more brightly. She turns to Jonathan. "Get the hand-held spot, will you?" she requests. "The last thing we need is to hit something on the way."

Jonathan reaches down under his seat. Brings out the spotlight. Plugs the cable into the cigarette lighter socket. Opens his window and angles the spot through it – rhythmically sweeping the beam left and right. "Need to check off the road too," he explains. "Make sure nothing's about to jump out in front of us." It seems he's done this before.

Sindi has increased their speed. The Land Rover's engine is roaring. "Hold tight," she warns. "This road's not built for comfort."

Sindi doesn't drive for comfort, either.

* * *

It's a measure of Auggie's stress levels that he doesn't produce his standard comparison with Annie's driving.

"We're about level with Christiaan's place now," Annie comments, watching the dot representing them pass east of the dot representing Christiaan's vehicle. Auggie knows, obviously. He's been monitoring through his headphones. Annie's comment is for Sindi and Jonathan's benefit.

And then the M99 coordinates freeze. "They've landed," Auggie announces. Sindi slows to a halt. Stops. Idles the engine.

Auggie pushes his computer through the space between the two front seats. "Jabula," Sindi says, obviously looking at the screen. "Borders on Sabi Sands. That's where they are."

She shoves the Land Rover back into gear. "I need to talk to Hoedspruit," she says. "Look for De Jager. Morné. Put him on speaker." She's probably handed her phone to Jonathan.

They careen along the road as Sindi yells at Sergeant De Jager. The Hoedspruit police station, it seems, are not awake enough for her.

Auggie's phone rings. "Incoming call: 'Jack-oh Bower'," intones Voice Over.

His gut unclenches slightly. The relief from the other occupants of the vehicle is palpable too.

Before he can find his phone on the seat next to him, he feels it touch the back of his hand. Annie has already picked it up.

Auggie puts Jaco on speaker.

"Owen. I've just got a call from the police. There's…" The words begin to break up. "…Poaching…Jabula…three rhinos…They want me to come…" The line dissolves into crackles.

Shit. "No. No. It's a set-up, Jaco." Auggie realizes he is yelling. As if the increased volume will somehow force the words past the poor connection. "Don't go. I repeat, Do not go."

"…Have to go…" Jaco's voice drifts back. "They sent photos…bad…Need to see if there's…do…"

_Fuck_. Auggie slams his fist down on his thigh in frustration. Why will people just not listen?

But at the same time Jaco's response does not surprise him. Auggie has heard the passion in the vet's voice when it comes to the work he does. Has heard his anguish when he's spoken about horrific injuries inflicted on the animals in these circumstances.

The people luring Jaco in have known just what buttons to push.

Auggie sighs. Resigned. Dissuasion is not going to be an option. He goes for the next best thing. "Don't go in without back-up, Jaco. Cops are on the way. We're on the way. Wait at the gate. Do you copy me?"

Jaco's "Yes," is the last thing that comes through before the call drops.

On Auggie's computer the coordinates for the tracker on Jaco's vehicle begin to change. He's leaving Christiaan's house.

Auggie leans forward between the seats. "Sindi," he says urgently, "Drive like hell."


	35. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER 34**

* * *

_Sunday June 29th, 2012_

_Mpumalanga, South Africa_

When Jaco Bouwer reaches the gate of Jabula Private Reserve he merely has to announce his name through the open window of his vehicle for the security guard to lift the boom and let him through.

"They said I must tell you the rhinos are on the Ndlovu Loop, Sir. You must turn left at the second road."

'They' being the police, Jaco presumes. Or maybe the owners.

Still, his senses are on high alert as he drives – looking for the unexpected – any signs of human activity – anything that might indicate this is a trap. The connection during the call between him and Owen earlier had been atrocious but he'd caught the journalist's sense of urgency. 'Do not go.'

He'd also caught Owen's realization that he was going to go anyway, and his resulting reassurance, emerging through other, unintelligible noise. "We're on our way…"

That, together with his loaded pistol on the seat next to him, provides him with some kind of a sense of security.

One and a half kilometers along the Ndlovu Loop road, as he rounds a bend, he finds horror to match the photos that had been sent to his phone.

Ominous shadows metamorphose, in the glare of his vehicle-mounted spotlight, into the harrowing outlines of three white rhinos crumpled on the ground.

He pulls off the road.

He's completely alone. The police he had been told would be there are not. No one else is either.

It's eerily silent. Even the crickets are quiet.

Jaco Bouwer's skin crawls.

But he doesn't leave.

He can't.

On the other side of the road from him one of the rhinos has gone down with its head facing towards where his vehicle is parked. Even without the spotlight trained directly on it he can see the gruesome spectacle that is the remains of the animal's face. The chainsaw that the monsters had used to carve away as much of both horns as they could both had bitten deep into the tissues. The edges of the wound are raw - skin curls away from the devastation underneath in pink tatters. Splinters of bone surround the yawning cavities of the animal's exposed sinuses. Blood congeals around the wound and pools on the ground where it has poured out through the rhino's nostrils.

And from the animal's withers protrudes a dart – the cheerful bright pink fluff of its flight a sick joke amidst the surrounding carnage.

Jaco reaches over to open the glove compartment and pull out his head-mounted flashlight. He dons it and switches the lamp on. He grabs his gun too, tucking it into his waistband as he emerges from his vehicle.

He crosses over the road. The rhino is dead. Either from the effects of the drug or blood-loss. Or both.

A second animal is lying on the road about thirty meters ahead of him.

He makes his way to it, focused on his surroundings. In the distance he hears what could be the sound of a vehicle approaching. Trouble? Back-up?

Owen's words come back to him. Reassurance. "We're on our way."

Nonetheless he increases his speed. Reaches the second animal. Realizes there's nothing he'll be able to do there either.

The third rhino is a little further off the road, about fifty meters to the left of where he'd parked his vehicle. He makes for it in a straight line, crossing the fairly open area in which the bodies lie. The rhino is lying near the edge of the clearing – beyond it is bush – not dense, but too dense to see through even with a half-moon in the sky.

And when Jaco reaches it he is suddenly, ridiculously elated.

The third rhino is still alive. Mutilated, yes, but alive.

Jaco explodes into action. He runs across the open veld back to his vehicle to collect his drug box. Returns to the rhino. Gets an intravenous catheter into its ear vein and administers a dose of Butorphenol – a respiratory stimulant. The next step will be to get oxygen into the animal's lungs. He needs to collect the oxygen cylinder from his vehicle.

Subconsciously, as he's been working, he's noticed the sound of the approaching vehicle getting louder.

Now, as he turns back towards his own vehicle to fetch the cylinder it becomes a conscious realization. As does the recognition of the sound behind him as that of the motor of a helicopter starting up.

As does the awareness that someone is behind him.

He reaches for his gun, already raising it as he turns, yelling out "Stop. I will shoot."

The man now in front of him evidently believes him, because he halts, about five or six meters in front of Jaco. His hands are behind him.

Jaco feels his eyes widen. Recognition.

"Julian?" he says to the man whom he'd hired to look into his wife's death. "Wat maak jy hier?"*

The private detective stands frozen to the spot – his face unreadable. Friend? Foe? Jaco can't tell.

And then two things happen. Behind Julian Willemse the great black shape of a helicopter begins to rise from the bush.

And behind Jaco Bouwer the vehicle he has heard rapidly approaching rounds the corner. He can hear it skid to a halt. Hear the distinctive sound of car doors opening.

But it's the sound of Laura Pritchard shouting his name that causes him to look around.

And that's when everything goes black.

* * *

As Sindi pushes the vehicle around the bend, the spotlight Jonathan is manning picks out a sturdy four-door pickup truck parked next to the road. Jaco's. Further scanning reveals, about thirty meters to the left of the truck, the fallen form of a rhino.

But it is the sight of the two figures standing frozen between the animal and the vehicle that spurs Jonathan Stone into action. His girlfriend is already bringing the Land Rover around, spinning it to a halt in the road so that it ends up perpendicular to the other vehicle – its two fixed roof-mounted spots illuminating the unfolding drama over the hood of Jaco's white pickup.

Jonathan doesn't wait for the vehicle to stop. He pulls the spotlight back inside through the open window and hurls it down into the foot well. Then he reaches for the door handle with his left hand, thrusting it open. With the other hand he pulls his gun from the holster on his hip.

Before Sindi has completely stopped Jonathan is out of the vehicle, beside the pickup, weapon at the ready - aimed over the hood. He has not failed to notice the black chopper lifting off beyond the two men.

He is vaguely aware that Annie Walker, behind him, has also exited the vehicle. It seems she too has seen the gun barrel protruding from the open door of the helicopter. And she too has recognized one of the men in the tableau in front of them. The one at whom the gun barrel is aimed.

It is Annie Walker who shouts out a warning.

A shout that distracts Jaco Bouwer momentarily.

The man Jaco has been holding at bay with his weapon does not hesitate. He charges at Jaco, knocking him heavily to the ground. Jaco's weapon flies out of his hand. The vet lies absolutely still.

The other man stands over the prone man, arm raised, something in his hand, looking ready to plunge it into Jaco Bouwer's chest.

_Knife_, thinks Jonathan.

Without hesitation he pulls the trigger of the weapon already trained on the upright figure.

He does not miss. The man staggers backwards. He drops the object from his hand and clutches at his shoulder. Turning, he begins to run awkwardly towards the helicopter.

"Jonathan! Cover me!" An urgent cry. Annie Walker has started running. Running towards Jaco Bouwer.

Ignoring Auggie's cry of "Annie! Wait!"

Jonathan opens fire on the helicopter. As does Sindi from the other side of their vehicle. A brief glance shows that she is crouched behind her door – firing through the open window.

The fleeing man has reached the chopper. It drops slightly and hovers low to the ground. Hands pull him on board. The aircraft is rising rapidly, beginning to swing away from the scene. Jonathan lets off another round in its direction.

Annie has covered half the distance to Jaco Bouwer.

There is a pop.

Annie cries out and stops, pulling something from her upper right arm with her left hand.

Jonathan hears Sindi gasp.

From somewhere behind him he hears Auggie call out, panicked, "What the hell's going on? What's happening to Annie?"

Sindi's shocked reply: "She's hit."

The helicopter completes its turn and swings away. Annie staggers forward a few paces.

Then she crumples.

"Oh, God, Auggie," Sindi's amendment. "She's down." Distressed. Urgent. "Annie's down."

* * *

Jaco Bouwer glances towards her at the sound of his name. It's the briefest of glances, but enough to give an advantage to the man who'd been in front of him. An opportunity the man seizes. Annie watches him feint to his left, out of Jaco's line of fire, and then charge down on the vet. She sees the vicious backhand blow of the man's forearm against the side of Jaco's head. She watches Jaco stagger sideways, fall, and lie there motionless. She sees Jaco's opponent recover. Watches him raise his arm – ready to stab Jaco with whatever is in his hand.

And then she hears the report of Jonathan's gun. Sees Jaco's attacker stagger, turn, and begin running back towards the hovering helicopter – arm clutching his shoulder.

It all happens so incredibly quickly.

But when she looks up at the chopper and sees the rifle barrel trained on Jaco's prone form, time suddenly slows down.

She begins to sprint, feeling as if she's running in slow motion, yelling to Jonathan to provide cover for her. She keeps low – hearing the shots being fired from behind her.

All she wants to do is get to Jaco. Drag him back a few meters to the downed rhino. To safety. To a shield.

It feels like it's taken her minutes to reach the halfway point. Somewhere in the periphery of her mind, outside of her point of focus, she is aware of a popping sound. Familiar. But she can't quite place it.

And then something thumps into her right biceps, startling her. She looks at her arm. Embedded in the muscle is a dart just like those she's seen in Namibia. Just like the one protruding from the side of the downed rhino ahead of her.

Dazed, she stops. Instinctively reaches across to pull it out.

Dimly she is aware of the sound of the helicopter moving away. Time is slowing.

Her arm begins to burn. She rubs it.

The world seems to have come to a standstill.

Her face is going oddly numb - her lips are tingling.

She feels so detached from everything, as if the world is disappearing. Her legs weaken. They give out underneath her. She floats slowly down to the ground.

She lies there. Better. She's so, so tired.

She closes her eyes. Everything goes quiet. Somewhere Auggie is calling her. She tries to answer but she doesn't seem to be able to find the breath.

_Strange_, she thinks.

* * *

"Less than one hundred meters," Auggie says, as the coordinates of Jaco's vehicle and the coordinates of the Land Rover converge.

The vehicle swings around a bend to the right.

"Here." It's Jonathan. There's the tiniest of pauses, then "Shit." The emphatic exclamation is full of shocked disbelief.

The vehicle breaks. Skids. Swings to the left. The rear slides to the right throwing Auggie almost onto Annie.

Or where she should have been.

She's not. Her car door is opening and she is on her way out of the vehicle. She screams out Jaco's name. Auggie uses his momentum to make a grab for her. To try restrain her.

"Annie. Wait." But she's gone.

The distinctive thump and whine of a helicopter motor fills the air. It's very close. Just ahead of them.

He hears Annie shout to Jonathan. Gunfire sounds from his left and right – Jonathan and Sindi both are covering her.

He wants with everything in him to open his door and get out, but he has no way of fathoming what on earth is going on.

So he does the best thing for all of them and stays down.

Until he hears the pop. That distinct pop of a gas-propelled tranquilizer gun. That pop that became so familiar to him in those few days with Jaco at Otjindawa.

That pop, now followed by Annie's cry.

And Sindi's gasp.

Suddenly Auggie Anderson couldn't give a shit about safety. He is upright and opening the door within seconds. Grabbing for his cane as he exits the vehicle. Shaking it out even before his feet hit the ground.

"What the hell's going on?" He's yelling. Angry. Goddamned frustrated. Hating the not knowing. "What's happening to Annie?" And scared. So, so scared.

"She's hit."

He moves. Closes the door behind him. Turns in Sindi's direction. Heart thumping. Sheer panic driving him forward.

And then Sindi tells him she's down.

Adrenaline kicks in properly. And it's exactly what he needs. His head clears. His brain coolly begins analyzing the situation. Strategizing for him.

Flight, fight or freeze.

Auggie Anderson is wired to fight.

To fight with his head. Cool under fire.

And that's what he does now.

"Sindi," he says, urgently, but in control, "I need you take me to her. Quickly."

Sindisiwe Ncube doesn't bother with niceties. She pulls him by the arm, dragging him at a run over the uneven ground. It's not elegant. Not dignified. Auggie honestly doesn't give a damn.

Sindi stops abruptly. Pulls him down. Unceremoniously grabs his hand and places it on Annie. On her shoulder.

He moves quickly, assessing her position. Annie is lying on her side facing him, curled into a semi-foetal position. "Help me get her onto her back," Auggie instructs Sindi. She complies.

Jonathan has come up behind them. "Is she OK?" It's an inane question. But what else does one ask? "Is she dead?"

Auggie doesn't answer. He moves his hand up to her neck – looking for a pulse. Finds one. Thank God. Moves the same hand up to her cheek. "Annie," he says. "Annie, can you hear me?"

There is no reply.

He places his other hand on her chest.

There is a deep rise and fall. Something like a sigh escapes from her.

And she doesn't breathe again.

His blood is like ice. His mind is as clear as crystal.

"Jonathan," he says, "I need you to go to Jaco's vehicle. Look in the glove compartment. Tell me what you find. Sindi, go and check on Jaco."

He bends down over Annie. He tilts her head back. Pinches her nose closed with his left hand. Seals his mouth over hers and breathes into her. His right hand can feel the rise of her chest. And its fall.

Sindi calls out. "Jaco's OK. He's busy coming around."

A car door opens. There's a click. Scratching and rustling. "Syringes." Jonathan shouts. "Needles. Bottle of…" There's a brief pause. "…Naltrexone?"

"That's it," Auggie calls back. "Bring me all of it. Run!" Jaco, I owe you a debt I am never going to be able to repay.

He breathes for Annie again.

Jonathan arrives. Auggie holds out a hand. Packaging rips. A syringe and needle are placed in his palm. He orients them. Fits the needle onto the syringe.

Jonathan brushes his hand with the glass bottle of antidote. Auggie grabs it – gestures to Annie. "Take over the breathing."

Jonathan moves over to Annie's other side.

Auggie has the needle uncapped and in position. He pushes it through the rubber seal on the bottle. Turns the bottle upside down and begins to pull back the plunger. In front of him he can hear Jonathan breathing into Annie's mouth.

The plunger is all the way back. He pulls the needle out. Holds up the syringe.

"Jonathan," he asks, "This look OK?"

"Yeah."

Auggie tracks rapidly down Annie's body. Looking for her thigh.

A part of him seems to be standing aside, watching.

He draws a breath.

Kneeling over her, he plunges the needle deep into her muscle. Through her jeans. Depresses the plunger. Measured. Steady.

Like his pulse.

He places his left hand on Annie's chest.

And he waits. Hopes. The kind of hope that comes very close to prayer.

Ten seconds later, Annie gasps.

Auggie Anderson slumps. His center turns to water. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Jonathan's.

And tears come.

* * *

*"Wat maak jy hier?" = What are you doing here?


	36. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER 35**

* * *

_Monday June 30th, 2014_

_Mpumalanga, South Africa_

Auggie Anderson is no stranger to the crash after a severe adrenaline rush – the hollow feeling in his stomach, the muscle weakness and tremors, a still-thumping heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He'd learned to deal with it a long time ago. To think past it. To push through until such time as it's possible to go to pieces.

It is, after all, only a physiological response.

And usually by the time he gets the opportunity, his body has rebalanced itself and the collapse never happens.

This time, however, he's struggling.

He sits for a few moments on his knees, right hand still on Annie's chest, obsessively checking for rise and fall. Rise. Fall. He has his left hand up to his face – forefinger and thumb over the bridge of nose – pressing into the corners of his eyes. An attempt to stem the threatening tears.

His ragged breathing sounds like it is coming from somewhere else.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes it gently. "Hey. You OK, man?" Jonathan. Compassionate. Auggie does his best to nod.

Annie's chest rises. Falls.

Jonathan's voice again. "Here. Let's get her comfortable." The hand on his shoulder has moved down. Is gripping his upper arm. Another hand grips his other arm. Urging him upright. Pulling him. Too easily. He couldn't resist if he'd wanted to. "Come. Sit here. Like this." He finds himself seated near Annie's head, at a slight angle to her body. He's vaguely aware of Jonathan's grunting, and shifting, and rustling. And then Annie's head and shoulders are on his thighs. He sits upright then and adjusts his position – lifting her up slightly and turning so he can sit cross-legged, her shoulders in the cradle formed by his legs, her head on his upper thigh. He wants to be able to get both hands on her.

"I've put your cane down here, next to you," Jonathan says. "Can I leave you here? I need to go help Sindi."

"Sure."

Around Auggie sounds drift around. Voices, mostly. Talking. Car doors opening and closing.

Annie stirs. She's trying to curl onto her side. He supports her with a hand behind her back. He feels her head turn. "Hey," she whispers.

Auggie's world shrinks to just two people. Two people, in the middle of the night, on the cold, dusty, uneven ground of an African farm.

"Hey," Auggie says quietly, smiling down into his lap. He curls his hand around her head, fingers under her ear, thumb on her cheekbone - brushing across it gently. Comfort for her. Reassurance for him. "How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," she says, huffing out a semi-laugh. She moves again as if trying to get up.

"No," says Auggie, a gentle restraining hand on her shoulder. "Stay."

She relaxes, and he listens. He still feels detached. Drifting. Sounds come at him but he's struggling to differentiate them, identity them.

Gradually, slowly, as his body and brain start to reorient themselves, they start to sort themselves out.

Sindi's voice from behind him. "…Twenty-five minutes? Great…" Speaking to someone on the phone.

Jonathan's voice, also behind him. Arguing with someone.

Jaco's voice. Adamant. "I am not leaving until another vet gets here. It was just a knock on the head."

"You could have a concussion. We should get it checked out." Jonathan. It seems he and Jaco are not in agreement on this.

"It'll have to wait." Jaco again.

A pause. Scrabbling. A grunt. And then approaching footsteps.

A body in his space - next to him. Next to Annie. A hand briefly on his shoulder. Jaco's voice: "How is she?"

"She has a helluva headache." Annie's reply. Out there before he's even drawn the breath for his own.

Jaco's chuckle. "That makes two of us." A slight pause. "Just stay here with Owen for a few more minutes. You might experience some nausea if you get up too quickly."

It's Jaco's pragmatism that finally gives Auggie the space to ask that question. "Is she gonna be OK?"

Jaco grips Auggie's shoulder again. "Yes," he says. "Except for the headache. That might be around for a few days." Auggie has become, over the years, something of an expert discerning even the slightest hint of hesitation in a medical person's voice. In Jaco Bouwer's right now there is none. Auggie allows the relief to warm him.

"Just give her few more minutes." The vet starts to rise, his arm brushing against Auggie's. "I've got to go and see to the rhino. Please call if you need anything." His footsteps move away quickly. "Jonathan," Jaco is shouting. "Can you come and help me, please? We need to get oxygen into this rhino quickly. And get some drips running."

The activity around Annie and Auggie intensifies. Sindi makes call after call – the signal in this area at least seems to be good. She stands near them, updating them as she goes. "Anti-poaching unit about twenty minutes out. They just had to wait for the vet…Police coming in from Nelspruit. By chopper. They'll do the crime scene stuff…I've sent the Hazyview guys home for now…ready to send after Karola King if we get reason to."

Auggie interrupts that, his brain suddenly back in full gear. "Sindi," he says. "Are we still tracking the M99?"

"Shit," she replies. "No." She sounds upset with herself. "Hang on." By the sound of it she's already on her way to the Land Rover. At a run.

"Laptop and headphones, please." Auggie calls.

Sindi returns with both. Auggie sets his laptop on the ground in front of him. Annie turns over to her other side, obviously wanting to see the screen. She suppresses a groan.

"Head?" Auggie asks sympathetically, looking for the headphone port.

"Arm," says Annie. "Those darts hurt." A few moments later she draws in a breath. "Oh. Wow," she says.

"Yeah." Auggie's smiling. "I know." He's seen it too.

So has Sindi. She's already on her phone. "De Jager?" she says. She's gone back to bossing the poor Hoedspruit cop. "I'm SMSing some GPS coordinates for you. Bushbuck Ridge. Send some guys that way...Yes. Armed…We think that's where our poachers are."

There's quiet for a few moments after the call ends - presumably the policewoman is forwarding the coordinates on to her colleagues.

Sindi speaks again. "Well," she says, clearing her throat. "I guess I'd better start looking for the bottle that still seems to be around here somewhere," she says. She cannot hide either the anticipation or the smile behind the words.

* * *

Annie risks sitting up. Her head doesn't thank her. But then again it hadn't been particularly grateful to be lying down either. Sitting up hasn't made it any worse, at least.

She leans her back against Auggie's shoulder. He wraps his left arm around her, pulling her against him. Briefly turns his head so he can kiss the top of hers. Murmurs, "Feeling OK?"

"Getting there," Annie says. She reaches across her body to put her hand over his on her shoulder. "Head's not happy, but the rest of me seems OK." She smiles. She twists her head around to look for Sindi. The policewoman is bending over, a few meters beyond where Jaco had gone down, taking photos of something on the ground.

"So, what happened?" She turns back. Auggie has headphones on, but the dots on his screen are stationary. She figures he can talk.

"To you, you mean?" Auggie's words whisper into her hair. He's turned his head away from his screen and towards her again.

"Yup. I mean I was running, and then I felt the dart hit, pulled it out and…boom. Next thing I know I'm lying in your lap, with a banging headache." She stops and twists to smile up at him. Winces. "The headache's not great," she admits, "but the other part is nice."

Auggie chuckles at that. "It is." Squeezes her slightly. Takes a deep breath. "You were hit with M99. Guys in the chopper…" His voice is a little shaky. She glances up at him sharply. His face is unreadable. He clears his throat.

"I know," she says. "I saw the gun. That's why I ran for Jaco. To pull him out of the way."

"Yeah, I guessed," Auggie says. He sighs. "Run first, think later?" But it's affectionate, not a criticism - the corner of his mouth has tilted a little. He pulls her in tighter. Continues: "Jaco keeps antidote and syringes in his vehicle. That's what saved you." His voice is very steady. Suspiciously so. His face is masked again. She's definitely not getting the full story here.

"How'd you know about that?" she asks. "Wasn't Jaco still out?"

Auggie turns his head away a little – facing forward now. "He told me when we went out to move that impala together," he says. "When you stopped breathing I knew it must have been M99 you were hit with. Told Jonathan to go get it from Jaco's car."

"When I stopped breathing?" She can feel her eyes widen. "_Shit_, Auggie. Did I almost die?"

His answer is a deep breath and a nod. He's turned his head back to her – his cheek is against her forehead. She feels the nod rather than sees it. "So you…what? Injected me?"

The nod again. "Yeah."

She feels…overawed. Overwhelmed. Suddenly hyper-aware of the man's steady arm around her, his solid shoulder at her back. His face against hers.

"You saved my life." She says it as a flat statement - knowing he's never comfortable with effusiveness.

But she needs to say it.

"We saved your life," he corrects. He kisses her temple.

_No, Auggie. You saved my life_. She stands by her original statement, but doesn't bother to do it out loud. He'll just argue back.

Instead she sits up straighter forcing him to pull back. Twists around so she can look him in the face. "So," she asks, making sure her grin goes into her voice. "Did you give me mouth to mouth?"

* * *

Things move rapidly. Sindi is back within a few minutes. The delight in her voice is unmistakable. "We've got him. We've got Christiaan."

At Sindi's words Annie sits up straight as if in preparation to get up. Auggie lets her go, uncrossing his legs so he can stand up too. "You found the bottle?" he surmises as he closes his laptop and grabs it and his headphones. He searches around for his cane where Jonathan had said he'd put it. He finds it. It's folded, unexpectedly. Jonathan must have collapsed it before he put it down for Auggie.

"On the ground on the other side of the rhino," Sindi confirms. "Also found a loaded syringe next to where Jaco went down. Looks like that's what the guy Jonathan shot was trying to stab Jaco with." The guy was trying to stab Jaco? Auggie realizes he's missed one or two details along the way. He'll have to get the full story eventually – before he talks to Joan – but now's not the time.

"We're thinking M99 too?" That's Annie.

"Makes sense," says SIndi.

Auggie is up on his feet now. Puts a hand out towards Annie who grabs it. He pulls her up. She winces again. "You don't have anything for headache do you, Sindi?" he asks on Annie's behalf.

"Sorry," comes the reply. "Jaco also asked me." She laughs. "You'd think in an entire bakkie-load of medical supplies he'd have something for headaches, but he doesn't."

Auggie smiles at that. But his mind is on the business at hand. "So I take it we're going right now to talk to Christiaan?" He's tucked his laptop under his arm so he can open out his cane.

"If you can get there before he runs," Sindi responds. "I'm going to have to hang around here a bit longer until the Nelspruit cops get here. But that shouldn't be too long now. And Jaco's refusing to leave until the Kruger vet gets here…"

"You want us to go after Christiaan?" Auggie looks for clarification. "To…" he hunts around for the right word, "…talk…to him? Hold him till you can get there?" Something inside him starts building. Something a lot like anticipation.

"Yes. Jonathan will drive you." She stops. There's movement. "He's on his way over," she says. Maybe she'd waved to him. "The sooner you go the better. Word's very likely got out by now that things went south." She pauses. "You OK to go too?" She's addressing Annie. "Or do you want to stay here with Jaco and me?"

"I'll go," says Annie.

Sindi's very much in control. Orchestrating the whole scenario with ease.

Jonathan arrives. "Here," he says, touching Auggie on the arm. "Can I help carry?"

Auggie hands over his laptop and headset. Annie gives him her arm. They turn.

"Hope you get him," Sindi calls from behind them. She sounds a little concerned.

"We can track his car," Auggie reminds her, turning back around. "And his phone. If he runs we'll know where to."

They walk to the vehicle. Quickly.

Auggie's half into the vehicle – one foot up on the running board, a hand on the top of the door when the idea strikes him. "Jonathan," he asks. "How's Sindi's Afrikaans?"

"Good," says Jonathan. "Why?"

Auggie doesn't answer the 'why?' just requests Jonathan to call Sindi back. He gets into the car. Finds his laptop on the back seat where Jonathan has put it for him. Annie is clambering into the Land Rover from the other side. "Can you see my phone?" he asks her.

The two minute delay to their departure time caused by Auggie's brainwave seems to have been worth it. Christiaan's vehicle does not move from his property. Nor does his phone.

Apparently the dummy text from 'Karola' to Christiaan's phone had not raised alarm bells – despite it being from Karola's official cell phone number.

'LIEFIE, WAG VIR MY. EK IS OP PAD. K' – _Darling, wait for me. I'm on my way. K_.

* * *

Auggie uses the thirty minute drive to call in a report to Joan. He catches her at home. It's one in the morning in South Africa but seven in the evening in Virginia.

Joan's initial response, not out of character, is one of concern for Annie. "She's fine," Auggie reassures her.

'_She_' is currently snuggled against him, head on his shoulder. Headachy. Drained. Jonathan has told them that Jaco had said the antidote knocks out all the body's own endorphins, too. Annie's going to be feeling down for a couple of days. But that's all. She's fine.

Auggie strokes Annie's hair, though, as he continues to brief Joan. Needing the contact.

She is fine. But that was too damn close.

Joan has moved on from concern to analyzing and strategizing. "So you think you can get Du Buisson to implicate Karola King?"

"Pretty sure of it," Auggie says. "He may be smitten with her, but Du Buisson will always try and save himself first."

"So we can hopefully break the ring open from there," Joan muses. A sigh comes down the line. "It's the next link in the chain we really need, Auggie. The person she's moving the horn to. Without that all we've really done is help bring down a poaching syndicate…" she pauses. "Which isn't a bad thing…" Trails off.

"…But not what we're here for," Auggie finishes for her.

"No…" Joan sounds distracted. There's a moment of complete silence from her end and then, "Auggie, I may have thought of something else. I'm going to look into it. I'll get back to you if it turns out to be something, OK?" She sounds…pumped. Well, as much as Joan ever does. Auggie realizes he's smiling.

"OK," he responds simply. No need to quiz his boss. She'll let him know if she turns up whatever it is.

Need to know.

"Good luck with Du Buisson, Auggie," Joan says, sincerely.

"Thanks."

"And look after Annie for me."

"I will."

* * *

The Du Buisson property is very quiet when Jonathan steers the Land Rover towards the house – parking it a little way down the road. Out of sight.

Jaco had given them the security code for the automatic gate. Entrance onto the reserve itself had been simple. There's a very good chance of them avoiding detection. Of them having the element of surprise on their side.

"Wait here," he says to Annie and Auggie. "I'll go scout."

He jumps out of the car quietly. Has a quick look up the drive. There are only a few lights on in the single-story house. Christiaan's BMW is parked close to the front door. Facing towards the exit. Ready to go.

Jonathan returns to the Land Rover. Reports his findings. "I want to try and disable his car first," he says. "He's left it unlocked. I can do it without being seen."

"OK." Auggie's nodding. "Good idea. We'll wait here." The man is looking thoughtful. "You think you can scout the house too? See if there's a back way in – or out? So we can block off escape routes?"

Jonathan's fairly sure that won't be a problem. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Great," comes the reply. "Come get us when you're done."

Immobilizing Christiaan's car is ludicrously simple. Jonathan sneaks around to the driver's side, staying low. Opens the door a crack. Reaches in and looks for the release catch for the hood. He does not fail to notice the packed bag on the passenger seat.

He gently pops open the hood and then, using the vehicle itself as a shield, and his phone as a flashlight reaches in and pulls the cable he is looking for loose. It's a very temporary measure, but a delay is all they'll need. If it even comes to that.

He sticks to the shadows and scouts the perimeter of the house. The only lights that are on are in the kitchen at the back of the house and in the living room, where Christiaan is – sitting on the edge of his beautiful leather couch, eyes fixed on the screen of his phone. The kitchen door is unlocked, Jonathan notes. There's your back way in, Auggie, he thinks.

He goes back to the Land Rover. Auggie and Annie climb out. The three of them have a quick discussion – finalizing their plan.

They walk together as far as Christiaan's car. Jonathan leaves Annie and Auggie standing there in the shadows. Goes around to the back of the house. Quietly opens the back door and sidles in. Quickly pulls out his phone and sends off a text.

'GO.'

A few moments later the doorbell rings.

* * *

Jonathan Stone is only a few paces behind Christiaan Du Buisson when he flings open the front door. "Lief…" The term of endearment dies on his lips when he sees the blonde woman and the tall man carrying a white cane on his front doorstep.

He spins around.

And that's the first time he is aware of Jonathan's presence in his house.

Jonathan watches Du Buisson's eyes widen. The man stands frozen in shock for a split second and then he whirls back round – obviously fancying his chances with a blind guy and a pretty blonde much more than the wiry, menacing man-in-black in his hallway.

_Big mistake, Christiaan_.

The action in front of Jonathan unfolds as if in slow motion. Christiaan dives at the open doorway, aiming between the two people standing in front of him. He shoves Annie out of his way, the heel of his hand striking her arm exactly where the dart had hit her. She staggers back. Cries out in pain, clutching her arm.

And Auggie Anderson moves.

They'd been expecting Christiaan to choose the front door for escape. And so Auggie has done his homework, quickly mapping the small front porch – getting a handle on the layout – before they press the doorbell.

Underestimation as a weapon.

The door clicks open.

Christiaan starts to speak and then breaks off with a sharp intake of breath. Feet move quickly and then there's the rush as the expected charge comes at him and Annie.

Auggie is braced for the impact – has already tossed his cane aside – out of the way, giving him both hands free.

What he is not braced for is Annie's exclamation of agony. Her sudden movement away from him.

Auggie Anderson sees red.

He uses Christiaan's forward momentum against him, knocking the man on the front of his left shoulder with his own shoulder, causing Christiaan to spin around towards his left. Auggie swings around then, getting in behind him and body-slams him against the wall.

Violently. With everything he has.

Contained in the blow is the force of all Jaco's deep, deep pain. Of Leeza's gut-wrenching heartbreak. Of the rise and fall of Annie's chest.

With no rise coming after.

_You fucking bastard_.

The crash against the wall is followed by a grunt of pain from Christiaan and desperate scrabbling. The man is terrified. Frantically trying to push himself back away from the wall with his hands. But Auggie is far too quick, far too angry to let that happen. He forces Christiaan back against the wall with his body. Presses him hard. _Let's let you feel what it's like to not be able to breathe. _

Christiaan starts whimpering. Auggie grabs both of the man's arms and rips them out from between his body and the wall. In one movement he twists them behind Christiaan's back – honestly not giving a shit if he dislocates one - or both - of the man's shoulders. He swings Christiaan Du Buisson around in the direction of the front doorway. Shoves him forward. Back into the house. He misjudges the angle. There is a sharp crack and a cry of pain. Auggie realizes he must have thrust Christiaan face-first into the doorframe.

He briefly considers repeating the action. Less accidentally this time.

"Here." It's Annie. Her hand is on his upper arm, pivoting him round. He turns. She pushes Auggie gently. Auggie pushes Christiaan harder. They go in over the threshold.

Ahead of him Jonathan says very calmly. "I have my gun on him, Owen. Laura, can you pat him down?" Auggie, starting to come down from his rage-induced high, is once again impressed by the young man's composure. Despite the chaos, the melee, his own loss of control, their covers remain intact.

Annie pushes past Auggie and does what Jonathan has asked. "Keys," she says, with the characteristic rattle to accompany the words. "Phone…" A pause. "Gun." More patting. "Aha!" Auggie can hear the triumph in Annie's voice. "Second phone."

He is suddenly fighting the ridiculous urge to laugh.

* * *

They move Christiaan back to the living room. To his beautiful leather couch. They lay out for him what they know. The evidence the police have. What the consequences are. What will happen to him if - as all the evidence they've gathered suggests – he is found to be the mastermind behind a series of rhino poachings. How much less severe the penalties will be if it turns out he is just merely a 'worker bee'. How it will count in his favor if he helps the police to find and convict the 'Queen Bee'.

By the time Sindisiwe arrives with two Nelspruit policemen and a search warrant, Christiaan Du Buisson is ready to sing.


	37. Chapter 37

**CHAPTER 36**

* * *

_Monday June 30th, 2014_

_Mpumalanga, South Africa_

The call from Joan comes when Auggie and Annie are in the kitchen. Auggie is leaning back into a corner of the counter, cradling a large mug of coffee between his hands, his cane propped up next to him. It's cold – even indoors - and it seems Annie is not the only one who hasn't yet fully warmed up after the half-hour the two of them had spent on the freezing ground at Jabula.

Annie has even had to resort to raiding Christiaan's wardrobe for extra warmth. She is now wearing a really rather gorgeous black ski-jacket - one she would seriously consider borrowing permanently if it weren't several sizes too large for her.

Auggie, however, is not impressed. "You smell like Christiaan," he'd said, sounding scandalized, when he'd come up behind her to nuzzle her in the neck while she was busy getting a pot of coffee on. He'd pulled back abruptly.

She had twisted around to laugh at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he'd replied emphatically, wrinkling his nose.

She'd been unrepentant. "It's this jacket or hypothermia," she'd informed her partner, "and I've already cheated death once tonight. I'm not planning on doing it again." She'd turned back around – away from him. "You'll just have to get over it." She'd closed the lid of the coffee machine and switched it on.

"Hmm…" Auggie had mused, voice muffled because he'd gone back to nuzzling her neck, "I'd much rather get under it…"

She'd slapped his cold hands away from under her top.

* * *

It had been Christiaan who had requested the coffee – or at least something to drink. Forty minutes of intense questioning were taking their toll. Annie had volunteered to go and make coffee not because she felt sorry for the man, but because he was making increasingly less sense as the fatigue kicked in, and they needed sense out of him.

Badly.

Because from their perspective things had come to a frustrating halt.

For Sindi, the night had just been getting better and better, as more and more evidence poured in. The Hoedspruit police had found the chopper on the premises of Karola King's slaughterhouse. With no horn. And only one occupant. The aircraft had been abandoned, as had the injured Julian Willemse who was still on board when the police had found him. Alive, but unconscious - having lost a lot of blood by the time he was discovered. Willemse had been taken, under guard, to a Hoedspruit hospital, expected to make a full recovery.

Which is good.

Not just for Julian Willemse.

Christiaan has told them it is - or had been - Julian who'd dealt with much of the 'on-the-ground' practicalities of the poaching operations on behalf of Karola King – the hiring of crew, the bribing of 'spotters', the paying off of guards. They had met when she'd contracted him in as a lecturer, because of his police and security background, when King Security had launched its training academy.

They had apparently discovered they could work together in more ways than that over time.

It had been Julian who had alerted Karola to the fact that Jaco had been sniffing around looking for information on Michelle Bouwer's death and Mozambican poachers.

And it will be Julian who, assuming they can get him to talk, will be slamming another nail into Karola King's coffin.

Or coffins.

Because, according to Christiaan, Karola's chain of funeral homes are also part and parcel of the whole operation.

"It's how she has always moved the horn," he'd told them. "Her business specializes in repatriations - you know, when a Mozambican or Zimbabwean dies in South Africa, then Lalakahle Funeral Services organizes getting the body back across the border to relatives on the other side…"

"So she's been moving horn in coffins? Under corpses?" Sindi's voice and face had held a mixture of outrage and awe to match Annie's. The sheer, brazen effrontery of it all is breathtaking. But, to give credit where credit is due, it is very, very clever.

In Annie there's a bit of guilty amusement, too. The slight quirk of Auggie's lips indicates that he too is finding it a bit funny. His sense of humor has always had a dark side.

Unfortunately, despite being vital information for Sindi, this intelligence is of no use to her friends from the CIA. Tonight's horn had been a 'special order', according to Christiaan. He really hadn't known much more. Just that Karola had been supplying a new buyer for the past six or so months, and that whenever they've moved horn for this particular buyer it had gone through the slaughterhouse.

"Oh, and there's a specific border official who helps the shipments through."

He hadn't known which border. He hadn't known how they would have hidden the horn. Transported it.

He hadn't really known anything.

It had become increasingly apparent, as questioning progressed, that Christiaan Du Buisson, apart from his sourcing of M99 on her behalf, has been little more than a diversion on the side for Karola King. Nice to look at, a source of particularly pretty genetic material, but not someone to be entrusted with any useful knowledge at all.

Karola is obviously no fool.

And Karola is gone.

The Hazyview police had arrived at her home within ten minutes of the call from Sindi to say that Christiaan had officially implicated her in the poaching incident and they had grounds for her arrest, but she had disappeared. With her young son.

She had left without contacting Christiaan Du Buisson at all. The only activity on either of Christiaan's phones had been Auggie's text message. The bag he'd packed was because he'd planned to drive over to Karola's for the night. To celebrate. Once they'd got news of Jaco's demise.

As they'd planned.

Christiaan hadn't even been aware that anything was wrong until the three Americans had arrived and Auggie had slammed him bodily against the wall.

Annie smiles every time she thinks of that moment. She can't help it.

It's one positive glimmer in the middle of a whole dark universe of frustration.

Annie perches on the counter and blows on her coffee. It's a disguised sigh.

This is their only chance. With this particular syndicate now blown there won't be any repeat attempts for them to follow up on. No more leads. If they don't find this horn now and figure out a way of tracking it they've lost.

It's as simple as that.

Sindi will have won. Jaco will have won. And that's good.

But she and Auggie and Jonathan will have lost. And there'll be another shipment of weapons in Al Shabaab's hands.

She blows on her coffee again. Watches Auggie over the rim of her mug.

He is sipping his own coffee slowly – uncharacteristically calm. Auggie is a man who can handle extraordinary amounts of pressure – she's seen it again and again. But even supermen have their kryptonite.

And Auggie's is frustration.

His placid demeanor has Annie bemused. Even a little worried.

Relaxation or resignation?

When his phone announces the incoming call from Joan, though, she mentally slaps her forehead. Auggie has instantly snapped to attention, everything about his posture different. Suddenly he's on the alert, expectant, full of anticipation. Focused.

Not relaxation or resignation.

The man is exhausted.

Annie takes his almost-empty mug from the counter where he's put it down next to him and refills it.

* * *

Auggie doesn't risk putting Joan on speaker – they're still, somewhat miraculously, undercover. Instead he answers, asks Joan if he can call her back, pockets his phone, grabs his cane and holds a hand out to Annie. "Find us somewhere private?" he asks her.

And, bam, he's suddenly thinking about how that question would sound in a different context. And he's suddenly fervently wishing that he could ask her that question again, in the way he's now thinking about asking her that question. Adrenaline rush after-effects, he tells himself.

And then laughs at himself.

_Who're you kidding? When have you ever needed adrenaline when Annie's around_?

Annie takes them back outside. To Christiaan's car.

"Private enough?" she asks, after they've both climbed in.

His brain devolves again.

Mentally he slaps himself. He calls Joan back. Puts her on speaker. Puts the phone down on the dash.

"We're good, Joan," he says, when she answers. "You can talk."

Something brushes against his right hand. His mug. Filled with hot coffee. He is half-tempted to mute Joan so he can kiss the woman in the car with him.

He would. Absolutely. If he knew he'd be able to stop at just kissing.

_What the hell? Focus, Anderson_.

"Hope you're up for some more action tonight," Joan is saying. "We think we've found your horn."

Auggie Anderson decides, right then, that he must be the victim of some kind of warped universal conspiracy.


	38. Chapter 38

**CHAPTER 37**

* * *

_Monday June 30th 2014_

_Mpumalanga, South Africa_

It had been a high level surveillance drone that had picked up the refrigerated truck leaving from Bushbuckridge Abattoir - Karola King's slaughterhouse - shortly after the helicopter had landed there.

"It's a technology that's just starting to be used in the war on poaching," Joan had told them. "Officially," she'd gone on, "even though we are now committed to working against wildlife trafficking, the US does not provide – in fact has not even considered providing – this kind of technology to African countries." She'd paused. "Unofficially," she'd continued, as Auggie had suspected she would, "we may, with the cooperation of the South African government, have one or two drones in the air over the Kruger Park."

"And you may have gotten someone at Langley to go see what they could see?" Auggie can hear the grin in his own voice, just as clearly as he can hear – in his mind's…ear? – the rustling of a chip bag as that 'someone' went looking.

"I may have," affirms Joan.

"And?"

"And the truck seems to be on its way to the Mozambique border at Komatipoort." She stops. Clears her throat. "Auggie, once that vehicle crosses the border tracking it becomes a lot more complex for us. We have the cooperation of the South Africans…"

She doesn't need to finish. Auggie already knows what she was going to say. Not everyone feels comfortable with American eyes on them.

"Where is the truck right now?" Auggie asks her.

There's the sound of keys tapping and then Joan's voice comes back over the speaker. "It's a few miles short of a town called Kaapmuiden, en route to Malelane. It's not traveling fast – from what we can see it hasn't gone above fifty miles per hour per hour since it left Bushbuckridge."

"So they're not in a hurry," Auggie comments. "Worried they'll draw too much attention to themselves if they're seen," he hypothesizes, "or just not worried about being stopped. Confident the horn's well-hidden?"

"Maybe it's just a slow truck," Annie contributes. Auggie rolls his eyes for her benefit. Her snort indicates she's seen him. He adds a grin.

Joan has her own theory. "Maybe the driver is aiming to arrive at the border at a specific time," she suggests. "Didn't you say Christiaan mentioned that there was a border official in Karola's pocket?"

"We'll see if we can get Sindi to get anything more out of him about that," says Auggie. "But either way, we're going after that truck."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Joan tells him.

Auggie and Annie pull Sindi and Jonathan away from the questioning of Christiaan to apprise them of the situation. Jonathan immediately volunteers to drive them. Annie doesn't demur. Which makes Auggie concerned about her head. She'd rummaged around in Christiaan's bathroom and found some paracetemol, and she'd said it had helped. But something's still a little…off.

Maybe it's Auggie who's a little off.

Maybe Annie just thinks a three-man team is a better idea. Which it is.

Auggie forces himself to reclaim his rational mind.

Sindi goes back into the room to see whether she can dig anything more on the border official out of the morass that is Christiaan's brain.

They listen in from the hallway.

"All I know is that she said we were going to have to move the plan back a day. Because the guy's shift had been changed." It's whiny. Christiaan had begun to sound whiny a good while back already.

"Does anyone know what time morning shift would change at the border?" Sindi asks the room in general. She's apparently thinking the same as Auggie. That shift changes are the best times for sneaking things through borders. That Karola's guy is either on duty now or coming on duty shortly.

And that the fact that the truck is taking its time indicates that the latter is most likely the case.

"Six a.m. I think," someone in the room replies. Auggie checks his watch.

"We need a fast car," he says to Jonathan.

Jonathan goes into the room.

He emerges rattling keys. "They've searched it. Sindi's cleared it for release. We have the owner's permission…"

What Auggie and Annie had heard through the door was more along the lines of "do whatever the fuck you want." But permission doesn't have to be given politely to be permission. And several police officers were witness to it.

Auggie cannot help himself. After asking Jonathan for the keys he opens the door to the sitting room. "Christiaan," he says.

"What?" The man's voice comes back at him full of open antagonism. Auggie loves it. Feeds on it. He dangles the keys. "I really appreciate this, man," he says. "I promise I'll let Laura and Jonathan do most of the driving."

Auggie ignores the man's suggestion as to what he should do next.

Instead he grins and relishes the laughter coming from the room he is just leaving.

* * *

They catch up with the truck at Hectorspruit, the town that lies between Malelane and Komatipoort – the border town.

They follow sedately for the thirty or so kilometers. When they reach Komatipoort the driver pulls into a gas station, and drives around to the truck parking area. He parks his vehicle and goes inside the building. Into the diner. Jonathan follows on foot.

He comes out again.

"He bought himself coffee and ordered breakfast," he says to Annie and Auggie. "Seems like he's planning to be here for a while."

It's just before five a.m. It looks like their guess that he is aiming to be at the border around six is a good one.

Annie makes up her mind. "I wanna go in now," she says. "Let's not wait for the border." She presses her argument – watching Auggie's face closely. His lips had thinned when she'd initially opened her mouth. "It's quiet, Auggie," she says, "and we know the guy's gonna to be busy for a while." Persuasive. "Let's do it now. We don't even know if we'll get an opportunity later…" She trails off, seeing the expression on his face.

Smug.

_Reeled you in_.

"You OK with that, Jonathan?" he asks.

"Yep." The young agent nods. "Just let me grab our stuff." He reaches across Auggie, who sits back for him, and opens the glove compartment – hauling out a small pouch. Sits back up. "Thanks," he says.

"OK. You know what you have to do." Auggie smiles at him. "Just keep your phone on."

It's her turn. Auggie twists around to face her where she is sitting in the back seat behind Jonathan. He reaches his hand through between the seats with an earpiece and a wire on his palm. "Your turn, Miss Walker," he says. She takes the items from his hand and starts getting herself organized. Plugs in the earpiece. Clips on the mike.

"Testing, testing," she says. He doesn't respond immediately. She glances up. He's still turned around. Still facing her. His expression is grave.

"What?" she says.

"Annie," His voice is gentle. "You sure you're up for this?" His face is worried

"Auggie," she remonstrates, "stop worrying. I'm fine." She realizes she's sounding a little annoyed. His eyebrows have gone up.

But then he smiles. Conceding her point. He is being over-protective and he knows it.

That doesn't stop him lodging an appeal, though. "Worry is permitted on all days where mouth-to-mouth has had to be given out of necessity, not choice," he states. "It's a rule."

He grins at Jonathan's cough.

Their plan is simple. Jonathan will pick the lock on the doors of the truck, and Annie will climb in. She will place the tracker they have reclaimed from Christiaan's car on, in, or as close to any rhino horn she can find, and then leave, with Jonathan locking the doors again before they go.

* * *

It's a simple plan, so naturally the execution is complicated.

The unpicking of the lock goes well, but it's pretty much downhill after that.

They discover, as soon as Annie opens the doors to climb in, that the truck has some kind of automatic light switch. The whole truck lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Shit," Annie exclaims as she leaps in. "Close me in, Jonathan. Quick." Jonathan does so. It's suddenly very dark and cold. Annie is still wearing Christiaan's jacket and has borrowed a wool hat from Jonathan. She'll last long enough. She pulls a flashlight out of the small pouch and starts looking around. In her ear Auggie asks, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "We just temporarily lit up the parking lot, so Jonathan had to close me in. This truck's a giant refrigerator complete with giant refrigerator light…Oh wow." She breaks off, taking in her surroundings.

"What?"

Her flashlight, by its very nature, only pinpoints small areas at a time: A meat hook here. A slab of bloody, pink flesh there. A severed ribcage here. A truncated limb there. Three rails of beef carcasses swinging gently.

All picked out in shadowy, bluish light.

The creak of the truck as it shifts under the buffeting of the early morning wind, and the accompanying clanking of the hooks on the rail, doesn't help.

Annie giggles. "It's a horror movie in here," she says. "Just me and thirty sides of beef in the dark."

"Well, just take out the thirty sides of beef…"

"Yeah, yeah," she cuts across him before he can finish the joke"…and there's you. I know."

"You're no fun."

"Neither is this really." She's going to have to work her way through systematically to try and find the horn, literally pushing her way between the swinging carcasses. She crosses her fingers that they've hidden it somewhere obvious.

She starts with the floor and sides of the van looking for loose panels. Finds nothing. Which leaves her to conclude that the horn probably is in some of the carcasses. She'd thought it a strong possibility – these are people who hide rhino horn under dead bodies, after all – but had hoped she wasn't going to have to go there. Apparently she is.

And so she starts scanning each hanging carcass individually with her flashlight. It's slow going. They don't know what size pieces they're looking for – the horn is more valuable in solid pieces but more easily hidden if cut up or ground, so she has to check carefully. And it's awkward. A really tight squeeze.

And she's very aware of the time ticking past.

"You getting anywhere?" Auggie's obviously also watching the clock.

"Not yet," she says, grunting as she hauls the giant slab of meat she's just checked along. "Seven down…"

To his credit he doesn't say anything inane like "Hurry up," to her. She loves that about him. He trusts her. Trusts her abilities. If she's doing something at a particular pace, it's because that's the pace at which it needs to be done.

Ironically, if it hadn't been for the fact she is working by flashlight she might have taken longer to find the horn in the eighth carcass. Despite it's immense size. It had been the shadows that had given its presence away. Something different about the contours.

They had wired it into the body cavity of the carcass – the broad base shoved up into the bovine pelvis, the curve following the line of the muscles along the inside of the spine.

"Gotcha," she says, with immense satisfaction.

"That mean what I think it does?" Auggie sounds happy.

"Yup." She puts the flashlight between her teeth so she can unzip the pouch. Takes it out again so she can talk to Auggie. "Now I've just got to figure out where to put this thing."

"Nowhere you can just stick it?" he asks optimistically

"Would be nice." She scanning the surface of the horn looking for inspiration but none is coming. The part of the horn she can reach is smooth and glossy, like polished bone – any disturbance to it will be blatantly obvious. The part near the base is pitted and uneven – a much better prospect, but she's Annie Walker, not Eric Barber. Even on her toes she's not going to be able to reach it well enough to do what she has to. She sighs. Tucked in the far corner of the truck she'd spotted a flimsy-looking plastic step stool. She shoves past carcasses again.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting something to stand on," she says. "I'm having to squeeze past all this meat again." A thought makes her chuckle. "There's gonna be no problem with this jacket smelling like Christiaan after this, I assure you."

Not long into her task she realizes she's going to need more time than their plan allows. The awkwardness of the space, the angle at which she is working, the fact that the carcass is swinging and not fixed, and the hardness of the horn are definitely not working in her favor.

She takes the flashlight out of her mouth so she can talk to Auggie. Explain the situation to him. "Get Jonathan to lock me in," she says. "Come get me out at the border."

Of course his first response is refusal. Because he's still not quite over the worrying. But she talks him round.

"If I come out now the best we can get is a GPS tracker in the truck. Which gets us over the border but no guarantees after that. If I get this done – and I can, Auggie, it's just slow – we'll be able to see where the horn goes…And you know that's what we need."

He sighs heavily.

"Please, Auggie," she says. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if we can't get you out of there at the border? If there are people around the truck the whole time?"

She dismisses that out of hand. "You'll think of something," she says. She grins. "You could always have Sindi phone in a report of human trafficking…and then they'll find me in the truck, all covered in blood…"

"You could freeze to death." He's thought of another 'worst'.

"I have Christiaan's jacket, remember?"

Auggie makes a non-committal sound. "I don't trust anything about that man," he says. "Not even his clothes."

"So what will make you stop worrying then?" she asks.

"If you keep talking to me," he says.

That makes her smile. And something else. Something warm.

"You're going to have to make do with humming," she informs him. "You might be able to chisel, hammer and epoxy stuff in the dark, but I can't. So I'm gonna need my mouth for this flashlight."

It's just over six miles from the gas station to the border. The truck leaves the gas station at twenty minutes to six. The driver, it seems, is aiming to arrive at the border post around ten minutes before shift change – as they'd suspected.

Fortunately, by the time the vehicle starts moving, and with it all the carcasses in the back with Annie, she has done the hard work of chiseling a slot into the horn into which she can slide the transponder. All that remains is for her to use epoxy to seal it in place and disguise the crack. It's tricky because she has to reach up in order to do it, and the flashlight is no use at all to her, so in the end she does it by feel.

"You should be proud of me, Auggie."

"I am." There are layers and layers in his words.

She pulls the little step stool back into the far corner and sits on it, keeping low, out of the way of the swinging carcasses, and out of view of anyone who opens the doors.

She is starting to feel the cold badly now – she tucks her hands in between her thighs and huddles into Christiaan's jacket, Jonathan's cap pulled down firmly over her ears.

But it is the six minutes and twenty four seconds of talking with Auggie from the time she sits down to the time the driver kills the engine that warm her the most.

* * *

Their rescue plan is simple. Wait until there's no one at the truck. Send Jonathan over to open the lock. Open the doors. Get Annie out.

It's a simple plan. And the execution is simple.

Auggie had been primed and ready for the signal to provide his classic "lost blind guy" diversion, but in the end it hadn't been needed.

And so when Annie Walker climbs into the back seat of the BMW he's already there.

Waiting for her.

She slides in next to him.

"So that's it?" she asks. "We're done?"

"We're done," he tells her with satisfaction. "Mission accomplished." He turns towards her then, hand outstretched, as if for a handshake. "Nice work, Agent Walker. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She tries to shake his hand solemnly, but can't quite hide the smile. He doesn't let her go. Instead he turns her hand over and starts to bring it to his lips.

She clears her throat. "Um," she warns, suddenly noticing the state of her hands, "I wouldn't do that. Unless you like the taste of cow blood."

He brings their joined hands up to her face and kisses her mouth instead.

"Time to go home," he says.


	39. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER 38**

* * *

_Monday June 30th, 2014_

_Komatiepoort, South Africa_

They stop at the gas station in Komatiepoort. Jonathan and Annie go in to get them coffee. Auggie calls Joan.

"Annie did it, Joan. Signal's loud and clear. Shipment's still at the border, but not for long."

"I'm looping in other people now, Auggie. It gets bigger from here. What I need to know is if you want to stay on it. Continue running point?"

Auggie had known it was coming. Had known, pretty much since she'd called to say they'd found the vehicle on the drone footage, that Joan would ask him the question. Because she is Joan. And she's still in his corner.

And Auggie, for whom the default answer in such circumstances is an unequivocal, emphatic 'Yes,' had unpredictably found himself undecided.

But now, now that the question has been asked, he finds that his answer comes easily. "No, Joan. Annie's done. And I'm not going on without her."

Those few minutes when they'd talked, the minutes before they'd gotten her out of the truck, the minutes where he'd deliberately been trying to make sure she stayed awake had made his decision for him.

The M99 had done its work on her – had, as Jaco had warned it would, wiped out her resources. She had nothing left except her damn stubborn willpower. And he was not going to push her any further.

And he was not going to abandon her either.

Joan accepts his answer with grace. "I thought you might say that," she says. There is definitely a smile in her voice. Amusement. And something else. Something softer. Auggie suspects there may be another conversation waiting for him when they get back to Langley.

He gets back to business. "So who will you loop in?" he asks. "Joburg? Someone in Maputo?"

"Neither," says Joan, surprising him. "Arthur has suggested someone. And I think I'm going to go with it. This whole thing looks like it may be linked with another one of Henry's messes. One he got Arthur tangled up in." She pauses. "I'd like to try and keep that part out of it if possible...The dust is starting to settle now. I'd prefer not to stir it up again." Auggie can't fault her there.

Politicians. Journalists. Opportunists. It's been a feeding frenzy and they've all had enough of it. Including him.

Joan is still speaking. "This person doesn't officially exist, so I'm going to have to figure out how we're going to spin it if we get a win." A brief pause. "But I'm sure we'll come up with something." That smile has crept into her voice again.

"Someone I know?" asks Auggie. Maybe it's an odd question, but instinct has pushed a name to the forefront of his mind.

Joan confirms his suspicions.

Auggie's response is immediate. "In that case," he says, "I might have a solution to your spin problem."

* * *

_Fairfax, Virginia_

Joan Campbell stands for a moment, her phone in her hand, thinking over her short conversation with Auggie, and then she goes looking for her husband.

He is on the couch, bouncing The Tyrant on one knee while, futilely it seems, attempting to read the top page of a stack of documents on the seat beside him. His expression, when he notices her in the doorway, is somewhat desperate.

"You'd think after all that time as DCS I'd have gotten multi-tasking down," he says, pulling down his glasses so he can look at her over the top of them. He takes them off completely when she comes into the room. Puts them on top of the papers next to him. Mack makes a grab for them – launching himself sideways. Arthur hauls the wriggling bundle of boy upright again. With some effort.

"They've done it?" he asks. She must be looking as satisfied – triumphant - as she feels.

"They have," she says, allowing the smile she's feeling to express itself.

"And?"

She knows exactly what that 'and' is referring to. "And," she says, "you can make that call."

* * *

_Komatipoort, Mpumalanga, South Africa._

When Jonathan Stone climbs back into the driver's seat of Christiaan Du Buisson's BMW, Auggie has a message for him.

"Our next stop is Nelspruit. The airport," Auggie informs the young agent. "You have a flight to catch."

Jonathan's heart begins to beat faster. "I'm continuing?" he asks, twisting around to face the man for whom he has gained infinite respect over the few short days he's known him. He knows he sounds inane but, truth be told, as much as he'd understood that sometimes an agent's part in a mission is over long before the win is achieved, he'd been bitterly disappointed when they'd turned back to Komatipoort from the border.

"That depends." Auggie Anderson is grinning in amusement, apparently picking up on Jonathan's somewhat over-eager tone. Jonathan, a little embarrassed, reigns himself in.

"Depends on what?" he asks. Calmly. But anxious nonetheless.

"Depends on whether you have your passport with you." Auggie's grin has not dimmed.

Jonathan heaves a covert sigh of relief. "Always," he says, pulling the travel document from an inner pocket of his jacket with something akin to a flourish.

"Then I guess you have a mission, Agent Stone," Auggie informs him, eyes crinkling.

"Yes." Jonathan allows himself, at last, to return the grin. There's a secret under-the-steering-wheel fist pump to go with it. The satisfied smirk on Auggie's face, combined with his apparent relish when delivering the news, is leading him to develop a hypothesis regarding whom it is he has to thank. "Am I right in thinking you had something to do with this?" he asks.

Auggie Anderson's mouth tilts down slightly at one corner. "I might have said a few words on your behalf," he admits, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you," Jonathan says with heartfelt sincerity. "I appreciate that. A lot." A thought occurs to him. "Are you going to be my handler, though? How's this going to work?"

Auggie's expression adjusts to become more business-like. "Someone will find you at the airport in Maputo," he tells Jonathan. "It's a person who doesn't officially exist, so on paper you're going to be flying solo on this. But you're probably gonna learn more from him that anyone else you'll ever meet."

* * *

They liaise with Sindi. They will deliver Jonathan to the airport and then drive up to the Du Buisson property to return Christiaan's car. From there they will take Sindi's father's Land Rover back to Skukuza where they will spend the rest of the day resting, and, at Annie's request, exploring the Kruger Park while they have the chance.

Sindi will make her own way back. "There's no shortage of potential transport," she'd said. "It's a madhouse here." She'd sounded elated. In her element.

"Let's go," says Auggie.

Jonathan starts the car.

* * *

_N4 Highway between Komatipoort and Nelspruit, Mpumalanga, South Africa._

Jaco Bouwer calls Auggie. They have just passed the turn-off to the Malelane Gate of the Kruger National Park.

"Sindi tells me you and Laura only fly out tomorrow," Jaco says. "I was hoping to be able to persuade you two to come out to the farm some time today. Maybe even spend the night here? I'd be happy to take you across to Nelspruit tomorrow morning. To the airport. I assume you're flying to Joburg."

Auggie confirms that. "We are," he says, "and I'd like that. I'll need to talk to Laura, though. When were you thinking?"

"Talk about what with me?" Annie whispers in his ear.

"Whenever you'd like. My plans for the day have been canceled." Jaco sounds...amused. Lighter. It's good to hear. "I'm up here at Christiaan's at the moment, but I'll be leaving any time now. If you'd like to come early on I could even fetch you on the way down."

"Later might be better," Auggie says. "Laura was hoping to get a chance to see some of the Kruger Park today. While we have time."

"Later might be better for what?" Annie's whisper is a little more urgent now.

"And you?" Jaco asks. Perceptively. Auggie has already contemplated bailing once they hit Skukuza. Pleading work to do. Sleep to catch up on. Safaris are just never going to be his thing. Not the 'stay-in-the-vehicle' kind at any rate.

He hasn't told Annie his plans yet, though. He hasn't been sure he has the heart to go along with them. To disappoint her.

"Um…" Auggie says.

"Auggie" whispers Annie. It's barely audible, but it's a reprimand nonetheless. Her curiosity seems to be reaching unbearable levels now.

There's a meaningful pause on the other end of the line. "I don't suppose you'd like to come down earlier with me, then, would you?" Jaco asks. "No pressure at all, but I'd thought about checking some of my fences while I have the chance. Doing some minor repairs. Company would be welcome. Maybe Laura could drive down later?"

He is so tempted.

And he succumbs. "Hold on," he says to Jaco. "Let me talk to her." At the very least he can allay her curiosity. And preserve his ribs from the elbow he is sure is imminent.

Auggie puts Jaco on hold. Repeats the highlights of Jaco's invitation to Annie.

Annie does not hesitate. "Go," she says. She sounds adamant. "Go, Auggie. I'll drive Christiaan's car up like we planned and meet you at Jaco's later. I can work something out with Sindi."

When Auggie tries to argue she only becomes more determined.

"I'll be fine," she says. "Actually I'll be able to enjoy myself more if I'm not worrying about you being bored to death…"

"You telling me I cramp your style?" Auggie asks in an offended tone. But he's jesting. And he knows she knows it.

"I'm telling you we're dropping you off in Malelane," she says, bossily (he has a brief Holly Webster flashback), "and I'll see you this evening."

Auggie takes Jaco off hold.

"I'll come," he says to the man on the other end of the line, "I'd love to. Thanks. Laura's good. She'll come down later."

"Excellent." Jaco sounds gratified. "Shall I meet you there in…say an hour?"

Auggie hesitates. "Depends what you mean by 'there'," he says. "We're actually pretty close to the Malelane Gate. Might be better if I wait for you there?"

Jaco laughs. "I should just give you directions so you can walk to the farm," he says. "You'll probably get there sooner than I will."

* * *

_Nelspruit, South Africa._

Annie (who has taken over the driving from Jonathan claiming it's unfair he has all the fun) pulls into a bay in the drop-off zone of the Kruger Mpumalanga International Airport. The Johannesburg operative does not get out of the BMW immediately. He turns instead to look at her. Seems to want to say something.

She arches her eyebrows a little - an invitation to him to spit out whatever it is that's on his mind.

"This has been a crazy few days," he tells her slowly, shaking his head as if in disbelief. He looks at her, his mouth quirking. "Is it always like this with you and Auggie?"

"Depends who you ask," she informs him with mock seriousness. "Our boss would definitely tell you 'yes'. He's convinced we attract trouble."

He huffs out a laugh. "I'm not sure whether that means I should try and hang around you more, or avoid you altogether in future," he ponders.

She looks at him, amused. "Don't lay this one on us," she retorts. "You started it."

He concedes the point with a wry smile and a little shrug. "I guess I did," he acknowledges. "I didn't really expect it to turn out like this, though."

Annie nods. "Neither did we," she informs him, seriously. "But that's how it goes." She adds, not as seriously, "We thought we were going to have a restful safari vacation with a little work on the side." She sighs for effect.

Jonathan winces slightly. "Sorry," he says.

Annie sends him a grin. "No you're not."

He returns it. "OK," he admits. "I'm not."

There's a short silence. Jonathan reaches for the door handle. "I guess I better go see if there are any stores open in the airport," he says. "I've been in these same clothes for more than twenty-four hours now." He opens the door and starts to climb out. Turns to face her again. "Say 'Bye' to Sindi for me?" he asks. "Tell her I'll be in touch as soon as I can."

"I will," says Annie.

"Thanks." The young agent's face is earnest. "And thanks for everything. You and Auggie both."

"You're welcome," she tells him. And then she shoos him out of the car with a wave of her hand. "Go catch your plane," she tells him.

He climbs out. As he goes to close the door he bends down to lean into the car for one last time. "Wish me luck," he says.

"You don't seem like the type to need luck," she smiles back at him, "but 'Good Luck'."

The words are Auggie's - borrowed from a long-ago conversation. Borrowed from the day they'd first met.

She watches Jonathan walk towards the unlikely-looking building with its thatched roof, wooden supports, stone pillars. It looks more like a resort than an airport.

And she thinks of Auggie. Of that first day. Of all the days since.

And of days that lie ahead.

This time there is no fear.

* * *

Auggie finds himself in Jaco's farm kitchen, before nine in the morning on a crisp South African Monday drinking coffee and munching a rusk – a Southern African phenomenon he'd discovered in Namibia, and which he's tempted to import back home with him - more convenient even than cereal.

Jaco had given Auggie a tour of the house while the coffee had brewed, his deep connection with the place clearly evident. Jaco, in his descriptions, had filled the rooms with stories, people. Anecdotal furniture juxtaposed with the tangible. Auggie had loved it.

The house feels good. Solid. Physically. The wooden floors under his feet are thick, heavy – with no give. The rough walls are thick too – the solid wood doorframes are a foot or so deep in some cases. It has that unique smell of 'old'. Not 'old and decaying', full of mold and rot, but rather 'old and loved' - years and years of furniture polish and farm road dust and dogs. Layers and layers on top of each other.

A dog comes and wraps itself around his legs as they sit at the kitchen table. Auggie puts his hand down. It is immediately filled with wet nose and licking tongue. He traces the face. "Collie?" he asks, noting the length and shape of the dog's face.

"Half," Jaco replies. "Her mother was a Border Collie. We don't know who the father was, but, looking at Meggie, he was a definitely a blend himself. She's Collie shaped, but black and tan with floppy ears. And short legs."

Auggie has already discovered the ears. Silky. Soft. He bends over the dog. Pats her affectionately on her side. "I think you're a beautiful girl," he tells her. He is rewarded with a lick on the chin.

He sits up again. Picks up his mug. "I like it," he says to Jaco over the rim. "The house. It kinda feels like you."

"It's my home," Jaco replies simply.

* * *

_R40, between Nelspruit and Hazyview, Mpumalanga, South Africa._

Annie drives.

_Drives._

She rolls down her window, foot down, not caring about speed limits or the risk of fines.

_Christiaan's car, Christiaan's problem._

She smiles. The wind whips through her hair.

And she thinks of Auggie's Corvette.

He may have given it to her, but she will never stop thinking of it as his. As _him_.

It connects her to him in a way little else does. To her Auggie. But in context. To a boy Auggie with his boyish love for cars. To a pre-Iraq Auggie with a dream and a plan. It's a tiny bit of the context he has otherwise been reluctant to provide. Auggie does not go back often.

And not without some kind of a push.

_So many untold stories._

It had been his car that she'd returned to – hidden in - when she'd come back to DC for the first time after she'd gone dark. When she was still on the hunt for Henry Wilcox. Still a ghost with a borrowed name.

Not an anonymous motel. Not Annie Walker's abandoned safe house.

His car.

_Him_.

* * *

_Malelane, Mpumalanga, South Africa_

Jaco is quiet on the bumpy drive across his farm. Something-on-his-mind quiet. He clears his throat a couple of times as if he wants to say something. But nothing comes of it.

Auggie waits. Patiently.

Throughout the whole drive.

And even once they've stopped.

Jaco is making no moves to climb out of his vehicle. Auggie gets the distinct impression he's trying to say what it is he wants to say. But he's stuck.

And even Auggie's patience has its limits.

So Auggie wades in. "I'm kinda getting the feeling you have something you wanna get off your chest," he offers.

The vet is silent for a moment. And then he huffs out something like a laugh. Sheepish. "Well, yes," he admits, eventually. "There is something. I've been trying to work out how to bring the subject up."

"You could just say it," Auggie suggests.

It takes Jaco a moment but eventually he comes out with it. "I know you and Laura aren't who you say you are," he says. "Not that that's a problem," he adds hurriedly, "I wasn't even sure I should tell you, but it started to feel like I was lying to you. Pretending I still believed it."

Auggie smiles a little. "I thought there was a chance you'd catch on, to be honest," he says. "When d'you figure it out?"

"Last night," the vet says. "Early this morning," he corrects. "When you were tracking the helicopter on your laptop."

Auggie makes a wry face. "Yeah. Bit of a giveaway," he acknowledges. "I was hoping maybe concussion and a veterinary emergency might be enough distraction. Apparently not."

"Sorry." Jaco sounds apologetic.

"Sorry we had to lie to you," Auggie says. He means it.

There's a small pause and then Jaco clears his throat. "So I'm guessing you're not journalists then?" he asks.

"Not really, no." Auggie grins.

"Do I want to know what you are?"

Auggie pulls down one corner of his mouth. "Probably not," he says.

Jaco laughs again. "I thought as much." He pauses, "And you're not Owen, either are you," he states. "Auggie?" He says it as if he's guessing."

"You remembered."

"It came back to me, yes. Laura said it very...definitely."

Auggie makes an executive decision.

"Her name's Annie," he says.

* * *

_Maputo, Mozambique_

Jonathan Stone steps out into the arrivals terminal of the airport in Maputo. He is wearing a black T-shirt with the face of Nelson Mandela emblazoned on the front and khaki shorts. The clothing items stocked by the only open store in the airport at Nelspruit (a tiny curio shop) hadn't exactly been his usual style, but Nelson Mandela was far preferable to the only other option in his size – a cartoon elephant with pink toenails.

He scans the people waiting for passengers. Sees what he's been told to look out for. Sees the man wearing a bright orange cap, holding a sign saying 'Silva Sands Tours'.

He approaches.

The man watches him, and when Jonathan nears him, speaks. "Are you Jonathan Stone?"

Jonathan confirms it.

"Welcome to Mozambique." The man touches the brim of his cap as he says it. He is strongly built, muscular. Even his loose shirt can not hide that. It is barely past lunch-time but the shadow along his jaw is noticeable.

Jonathan continues with the script. "Thank you," he replies. "I've wanted to visit for a long time. My parents came here on their honeymoon. I grew up hearing about how beautiful it is."

"You won't be disappointed," his contact informs him. "Would you like to follow me?"

Jonathan does. Into the parking area. To a small, black Toyota.

They get in. Close the doors.

The man turns to him, fixing him with a blue-eyed gaze. He smiles. Holds out a hand.

"My name is Ben Mercer," he says.

* * *

_Malelane, Mpumalanga, South Africa._

Auggie ratchets the wire-tensioning tool a few more clicks, checking the tension on the strand of wire he's pulling with his other hand. Feels about right. He reaches lower. Finds the strand below. Checks its tension. And the one below that. Comparing.

"Feels OK, I think" Auggie calls to Jaco. "How's it look?"

Crunching footsteps announce the approach of the man who has been stabilizing the post opposite. Arrive. Stop. There's a pause. Auggie imagines Jaco is scrutinizing his temporary assistant's work. "It looks good," is the verdict. "You can loosen the ratchet now." There's a clunking sound coming from the toolbox near his feet. Jaco is rummaging for something.

Auggie reverses the procedure he'd used, under Jaco's guidance, to attach the tensioning tool. It pops loose. He holds it out in Jaco's direction. "Here," he says.

"I'll swap with you," Jaco announces. "Ratchet for wire cutters. You can finish off." The tool in Auggie's hand is replaced with a set of heavy duty wire-cutters. Auggie orients them in his hand. "Leave about five centimeters – two inches," Jaco suggests. "That'll give you enough to wind back and staple onto the post with."

Auggie measures off the two inches with his left hand. Cuts with his right. Then bends and staples the end with the staple gun Jaco has given him, following Jac's directions. Quick. Simple.

He hands the tool back to Jaco. "Is that it?"

"That's it," the vet confirms, taking the staple gun from him. "Job well done." His voice comes from lower down. There's another metallic clatter - he's putting the tool back into the box. A rustle, and Jaco's voice comes from its regular height again: "I have a couple of beers in a cool-box back at the bakkie. Would you like one?"

Auggie grins. "You bet," he says. Holds out a hand. "Lead on."

* * *

Jaco Bouwer watches the tall, rangy dark -haired man leaning easily against the side of his vehicle. Watches him take a swig of his beer. Watches him sigh with relish. Watches him turn towards him. Smile.

"Now this is what I call 'R 'n' R'," Auggie says. "How often do you get to do this?"

"What? Drinking beer or checking fences?"

"Both," Auggie comes back with a grin.

Jaco finds himself responding in kind. "Not often enough," he says. Then he clarifies. "The beer, in my opinion. The fences, in my neighbors'."

"Complaints?" The not-journalist has his eyebrows raised.

"Constantly," Jaco tells him. He says it with a chuckle. "But I stopped worrying about it long ago. It's ritual now. We'd all feel lost if it stopped."

Auggie is chuckling too. "Yeah, I know how that goes," he says. He takes another draw from the bottle in his hand. Swallows. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know what they say," he adds, "'Good fences make good neighbors.'"

Jaco finds himself genuinely laughing at that. Remembering something. "You know, I hated English at school," he tells Auggie. "It all seemed totally irrelevant to a very Afrikaans farm boy. Except we studied this poem once. With that exact line in it. That poem I understood. I think it's the only reason I passed the subject at all."

The man next to him gets something of a faraway expression on his face. "Robert Frost," he says. Quotes: "Something there is that doesn't like a wall…"

"You know it?"

"You're not the only one who took English classes at school." Auggie has turned to face him again. Amused. "And the guy's American. We studied a lot of Frost."

Neither man speaks after that for a while. Both relax. Sipping their beers. Drinking in other things too. Hypnotizing things. Sounds, smells. The view – for him. Auggie is facing into the sun again, face still, tilted up a little. As if to catch the warmth.

But the silence becomes pregnant. And Auggie's face is pensive. And Jaco begins to suspect that he, like Jaco earlier, wants to say something but is unsure of how to start.

Auggie does, though. Sighs and gets on with it. "Starting to feel these days there's something in me that doesn't like walls either." He breaks off. There's something in his face. Around his eyes. Something like sadness. Regret?

Jaco doesn't say anything. Not sure what to say. Instinctively feeling that the man isn't done yet. Giving him space, but watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Auggie is toying with the bottle he's holding. Still facing forward. Away from Jaco."I'm pretty closed off these days," he says. He pulls his lips together. Wry. "Have been for a long time actually." A small sigh. "I wasn't," he says. "Not when I was younger. I guess the walls have kinda built up with time. I've had to learn to...compartmentalize things."

Jaco looks at him fully then. "Because of your job?" He hasn't been told specific details, but he has a pretty shrewd idea what kind of work Auggie Anderson is involved in.

Auggie turns to face him then, eyes crinkling a little. "Not much that gets past you, is there?" he says. Then he answers Jaco's question. "I talked about this with Annie the other night, actually." There's a slight smile on his lips when he says her name, but his expression neutralizes quickly. "Yeah, the job has something to do with it." He pauses as if unsure how to go on. Looks away from Jaco again. Leans back. "Honestly, though," he continues slowly, "I think I use it as a convenient excuse."

It's said by a man who has been giving the subject a lot of thought, Jaco intuits, and who has needed a safe place to voice those thoughts. Who better than a virtual stranger in a foreign country? I'm his confessor, Jaco realizes. The realization gives him the courage – or permission, perhaps – to open a gate between him and the man next to him.

"After Mich died," he says softly, leaning back against his pick-up, eyes on the horizon, mimicking Auggie's pose, "I shut myself in. Away from everything – everyone. For a long time. I needed the safety. I needed not to have reminders. Of her. Of the good times. Because I wasn't sure I could survive the cold fact that it was all gone."

Auggie doesn't comment. The lines around his eyes have deepened. But not in his usual expression of amusement. In pain. His brow is drawn. He is very still.

Jaco stays quiet too. Concerned he may have miscalculated. That his invitation to this man to step out of his safe space had been premature.

And then Auggie nods slightly. Swallows. "Yeah," he says. It comes out low. "That."

"Walls keep you safe," Jaco says. "They keep the bad things out." He shrugs. "And that's OK for a while. You need them. But I realized they isolated me eventually. And I think I started starving." He pauses. "I suppose you need to open a gate in the wall eventually in order to keep surviving." He hears his own words. Realizing that he's been preaching to himself too. It's only in the last three or so months that he's been able to start opening gates in his own walls. "We do," he amends. "Us survivors. We need to go outside. Start reconnecting…"

"And letting other people in?" There's a slight smile playing around Auggie's mouth. A raised eyebrow. Auggie's remembering their scotch-fueled conversation around an Otjindawa fire.

Touché.

_'I can't imagine ever loving anyone else.'_ His own words. He finds he has no more to say.

They have finished their beers. Jaco begins to push himself away from the vehicle, ready to start loading the equipment, fencing materials back onto his vehicle when Auggie's quiet words stop him.

"All I could think about when she was lying there in my lap after she'd started breathing, when I knew she was going to be OK, was what you said to her in the car on the way here," he says. "About Michelle. About not having regrets – knowing you gave her everything you could while you could." The man's mouth has tensed up again. "And about how I hadn't done that for Annie." The words are broken. Jaco watches Auggie close his eyes. Swallow. His face is very rigid as if he's trying to hold himself together.

He succeeds. His next words come out in his usual voice.

"I don't want any regrets," he says.

* * *

Jaco stops the vehicle. In front of his workshop, he has informed Auggie. "I just want to unload the vehicle," he says. "I really hate having to start a new job by finishing the old one."

Auggie smiles to himself. It's completely consistent with the Jaco Bouwer he's come to know. Thorough. Precise. Dedicated to everything he does. "Can I help?" he asks.

He stands in the back of the vehicle, handing things down to Jaco to pack away. Works his way clockwise around the space. Toolbox, rolls of wire, bag of cement, sturdy wooden post. When he's sure he's cleared everything he hops down with the only remaining item. The cooler box. It rattles with the sound of their empty beer bottles.

Jaco returns from putting away the last of the supplies. "That's it," he says. "We're all done."

Auggie grins at him. "Guess I can add fence repair to my growing CV, now," he says. He listens as Jaco busies himself closing the tail-gate of the truck. The bakkie.

Jaco laughs. "I'm sure it'll come in very useful in your line of work," he comments.

And there's the opportunity Auggie has been waiting for.

"You never know," he says quietly. "I'd never in a million years have thought I'd need to know how to inject someone."

Jaco doesn't reply. As if he senses that Auggie isn't finished. That he needs to say it. To somehow try and express his gratitude to him. As inadequate as the words will inevitably be.

"I wouldn't have her if it wasn't for you," he says to Jaco simply. "Annie, I mean. She would have died this morning."

Jaco doesn't brush it off. Auggie appreciates that. Appreciates the perceptive man's quiet acceptance of his gratitude. "I'm really glad she's all right," is all that Jaco says. And then he touches the back of Auggie's hand.

They start along the rough path that runs between where Jaco parks his vehicle and the house. Jaco's steady arm is firm under his fingers. The dust under Auggie's feet is so familiar now, as are the tussocks of grass that occasionally tangle with his cane. Those things mixed with the unique dusty smell of the air and exuberant birdsong are going to be his Africa forever.

As are his memories of Annie here.

Africa has given her back to him.

He's going to honor that gift by giving her everything he has. Everything he is.

A car approaches from their right. Fast. It's not long before it pulls to a halt behind them. Back where Jaco had parked his vehicle.

The dust in the air thickens.

Jaco stops. Turns around, twisting away from Auggie. "Annie," he says simply.

"I guessed by the driving," Auggie says. His lips are quirking upwards – his heart lifting with them.

A car door opens and closes. Footsteps hurry towards them. Auggie takes his hand from Jaco's arm. Turns to face the direction of Annie's approach.

She arrives.

"Hey," she says, slightly out of breath.

"Hey yourself," he answers.

He opens his arms. She barrels into them.

He wraps himself around her.


	40. Chapter 40

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

Jonathan Stone got his win. And the credit for it.

The data from the GPS tracker Annie Walker had hidden in one of the horns crossing over into Mozambique was monitored and relayed to him and Ben Mercer by a technical wizard named Eric Barber.

The truck containing the horn was driven to small, family-owned butchery on the outskirts of Maputo, where the two operatives watched the carcasses being off-loaded. Less than three hours later they observed a small, refrigerated van being loaded with several polystyrene boxes labeled with the name of the butchery. The van left the premises headed for central Maputo. The signal from the GPS device did too.

The "meat" was delivered to a restaurant near Maputo's dockland. Coincidentally a fruit-and-vegetable delivery happened at the same time. The horn left with the fruit-and-veg delivery men – presumably in the 'empty' packing crates they had returned to the vehicle after their delivery.

It overnighted in a large storage depot belonging to Dos Santos Fruit Co.

Two days later the horn departed from Maputo in refrigerated container on board a ship to Mombasa, Kenya, hidden in a consignment of mangos.

Once in Kenya it was transported by road, north to the Kenyan border, and over it into Somalia. It eventually reached the small town of Barawe – a known Al Shabaab stronghold - on the thirteenth of July.

Arthur Campbell called in some large favors.

Joan Campbell watched and waited.

On the twenty-first of July there was once again movement of the horn towards the port area of Barawe. Just before dusk that evening, a small boat approaching the harbor was quietly intercepted by an unidentified inflatable vessel carrying a team of highly skilled men. Men who carried out their mission with military precision.

Five surface-to-air missiles were found and confiscated. As were two missile launchers.

The horn moved again a few months later. An anonymous tip-off led to the shipment being intercepted in international waters en route to Vietnam.

Jonathan Stone was commended for his part in the interception of a shipment of 'Russian' missiles bound for a town known to be a hiding place for several Al Shabaab commanders – some with links to previous attacks on Western targets in Kenya.

Although offered a transfer to a more prestigious station, Jonathan chose to remain in South Africa. He felt the region had a lot to offer in terms of gaining experience and developing a unique resume. After months of investigation, surveillance and careful approaches Jonathan eventually turned the owner of the depot from which the mangos (and horn) had been shipped - a fruit exporter named Joao Dos Santos. Dos Santos became Jonathan's very first asset.

He had other reasons behind his decision to stay, too. These he kept to himself.

* * *

Sindisiwe Ncube, similarly, got her win.

Two weeks after Annie Walker and Auggie Anderson flew back to DC, Karola King was arrested in Botswana attempting to board a flight from Gaborone to Tunisia using a passport in the name of Michelle Bouwer. Her small son, traveling as Lukas Bouwer, was with her.

Sindi had asked immigration to check departures at South African borders. She had, on a hunch, given them several possible identities to look for. One of them had panned out. 'Michelle Bouwer' and her son had entered Botswana at the Grobler's Drift border post early on the morning of the thirtieth of June. Botswana police had been alerted of the presence of a South African fugitive traveling under a false name within their borders. It was only a matter of time until they found her.

And they did.

Karola King was sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment for offences related to rhino poaching, corruption, smuggling, and – after specific testimony from Julian Willemse – arranging the murder of Michelle Bouwer. She had ordered Julian to surveil Michelle, he had told the court, after becoming concerned she had become suspicious of their activities. It had been Julian Willemse who had taken the photograph of Michelle and Jean-Paul, but Christiaan Du Buisson who had taken a copy of it to his sister in an attempt to blackmail her into keeping quiet. The blackmail had not worked.

They had resorted to threats.

Those had not worked either.

Julian Willemse also admitted to tipping Mrs. King off about Jaco Bouwer's renewed interest in his wife's death, triggering the rollout of the final stages of the long-term plan to frame him.

Additional evidence against Karola King had come from various sources including information mined during intricate analysis of her computers, business and personal, and a forensic trail leading to several Tunisian bank accounts in the name of Michelle Bouwer. South African technicians and auditors were advised by a handful of (anonymous) American experts.

The poaching case against King focused on the smuggling of horn via her funeral business. No mention was ever made, in police files or the court case, of smuggling via Mozambique.

Christiaan Du Buisson received a five-year sentence for his part in the operation – significantly reduced as a result of his testimony against Karola King.

Leeza Ford was given a two-year suspended sentence. Despite the fact that she now had criminal record, Dr. Jaco Bouwer insisted that she continue to work for him as his practice manager.

One month after it became apparent that the poaching ring had been broken wide open by the work of Detective Sergeant Ncube, and that the evidence was going to hold up in court, a captain within the Task Force quietly transferred to another department.

* * *

As a result of the incarceration of both of his parents, young Lukas Du Buisson was released by the courts into the care of his paternal grandparents, there being no class relatives on his mother's side.

Within hours of this decision an urgent injunction was sought by lawyers on behalf of his UK-based uncle, Jean-Paul Du Buisson, who had just laid charges of child sexual abuse against his father, Dr. Jean-Luc Du Buisson.

Similar charges were laid against Du Buisson by his other son, Christiaan, shortly thereafter.

It had been the threat to his young nephew that had prompted Jean-Paul Du Buisson to final talk about what had happened to him and Christiaan as young boys. He had previously only ever told Michelle, and that only in mid 2011 because he was desperate. His life had been unraveling, and he needed help. She had flown him back to South Africa and, for a period of three months, had funded his stay at a private clinic where he had received the counseling and psychiatric treatment he had needed. It had been this facility to whom the payments from her account, the ones Jaco had noted, had been made. The calls, made from her phone to the unknown number on the records Jaco had found, had been to a prepaid cell phone given to him on the day of his discharge.

She had been checking up on her older brother to make sure he was OK. And that he got back home safely.

Jaco Bouwer, who had been spending a lot of time since the arrests with his newly-discovered nephew-by-marriage, was, on recommendation by two social workers, granted temporary custody of the boy. This was based, in large part, on the obvious bond that had developed between the two. It was also based on the fact that there was a great deal of feminine influence in the form of a petite, pixie-like, gloriously straight-speaking veterinarian, who was forming an increasingly large part of the lives of both his uncle and him.

* * *

There was, as Auggie Anderson suspected, a conversation with Joan Campbell waiting for him on his return to Langley. A conversation that resulted in him, three months after the end of their Southern African mission, filing 'close and continuing' paperwork.

Or at least Joan thought so.

In truth, she really hadn't needed to talk to him. He'd already made up his mind, even before she spoke to him, that he was going to do it.

Actually, it had been an earlier conversation with Joan, one she maybe didn't even remember, that had clinched the deal for him.

On the flight home the words she'd spoken to him almost a year previously had risen up in his mind. Words she'd spoken on that day he'd asked her why she'd paired them right in the beginning. Words spoken on the day he and Annie had given up on their relationship.

"_Annie needed someone to ground her_," Joan had said, "_and you needed someone to force you out of your comfort zone_."

Nothing had changed, he had realized.

They still needed each other for exactly those reasons.

And there'd be no giving up this time.

* * *

_Author's Note._

_That's it. C'est fin! And what a journey it's been. Thank you all SO much for hitching a ride with me - for your reviews, encouraging tweets, personal messages, DMs and WhatsApp messages. You've got the stalled car re-started every time._

_My biggest thank you of all goes to **cherithcutestory2** for patiently editing every chapter for me, making suggestions, doing her best to make me sound less British, and chivvying magnificently whenever needed. She's just..._

_Tonight, on what would have been Nelson Mandela's 96th birthday, as I close this story off, the beautiful Tutu Puoane is actually performing at The Orbit Jazz Club and Bistro in Johannesburg. And in my mind, the credits of this story are rolling to the sound of her gorgeous rendition of the song 'Mango Picker' with it's blended in strains of the prayer that forms part of the South African National Anthem:_

_Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika_

_God bless Africa._

_I suspect there are many more hope-filled stories to be told here._


End file.
